


The Flying Haggis: FitzSimmons' Adventures in the Campervan of Awesome

by everyl1ttleth1ng



Series: The Flying Haggis [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor, Romance, Skye-can-be-annoying-sometimes, a-teensy-bit-of-angst, lots-of-tea, you-guys-spell-humour-wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-06 11:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 55,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4219641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everyl1ttleth1ng/pseuds/everyl1ttleth1ng
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz gazed back at her, helpless. "You, Jemma," he moved ever so slightly towards her, his eyes blazing, "You are incandescent," he breathed.</p><p>"Of, or pertaining to, a lightbulb?" she asked cheekily.</p><p>He shook his head. "Shining brilliantly," he corrected. "Luminous. Radiant. Characterised by ardent emotion or intensity. Aglow."</p><p>She smiled shyly at him as he made his ever-so-gradual approach. "I am?" she whispered.</p><p>He nodded intently. "You are." He watched his left hand as he slid it along the edge of the bench towards hers. "But it's not like that's a new discovery. You've dazzled me ever since I met you."</p><p>ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo</p><p>In a happier alternate reality (after What They Become), Coulson charges a healing FitzSimmons with helping Skye understand the nature of her new powers. After making the scientists swear that none of their relational awkwardness will get in the way, he sends them into remote desert in a tricked-out campervan which Fitz dubs "The Flying Haggis".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It started so organically that none of them could quite put their finger on it. Every night now for weeks, maybe months. If they'd let themselves prod at it, poke at it, analyse it, they'd have been able to trace it back to the night they lost Trip and the night Skye received her "gift". But it was too precious for prodding and poking and it felt too fragile for analysis. No one dared to mention it or even to make assumptions about it continuing in the privacy of their own mind. And yet, every night, on and around the couches in the The Bus lounge, they would gather. Sometimes May, rarely Coulson, but always Mack and Fitz, Skye and Jemma, Bobbi and Hunter. They would trickle in, provided their wasn't a mission, any time after ten and just sit. Sometimes they'd sit in companionable silence, nursing a drink, sometimes there'd be rowdy arguments or raucous laughter. But always they gathered to be together, like a family connecting over an evening meal.

For Mack, it was a chance to unwind. It helped Bobbi and Hunter to keep seeing one another as human beings, softening them towards one another. For Skye, it was balm to her hurting heart – these people were safe and they loved her and knew how much she needed them to show it. For Fitz and Jemma, it was a daily sighting of the other, sometimes with the added bonus of an exchanged glance or even a brief conversation now that they worked in separate settings. For all of them, including May and Coulson when they could be there, it was the calm at the end of the day that interrupted the pressure or the urgency or the fear or the intensity of focus and allowed them the possibility of eventually falling into sleep.

Fitz, still feeling awkward and uncertain about exactly how he fitted into the team these days, had stumbled into the habit of hanging back, pottering in the garage a little longer than really necessary in order to be sure that a quorum had gathered before he would show his face. Things with Jemma were easier than they had been for a long time but he still felt unsure of his footing – uncertain if an attempt at more contact between them would be entirely welcome to her. As irritating as he found it, his movements around her were still a source of deep anxiety.

Usually he'd wander in once conversation was well-established, make a beeline to the kettle and then plonk himself, tea in hand, next to Mack where there always seemed to be a spot for him. From the safety of that position he would tentatively enter into the banter or observe the argument, stealing occasional glances across the lounge that went unnoticed by no one. But one night, having been summoned to Coulson's office for a late night engineering conversation, Fitz found himself standing with the director at The Bus' galley kitchen far earlier than he found entirely comfortable. He was safe on one level – Coulson kept up a steady stream of questions – and yet on another level he felt utterly at sea. How would the evening progress? How would he know how to choose his seat? Should he make his excuses and duck back to the garage for another half hour? Coulson didn't look like he'd let him get away that easily, so Fitz busied himself with dangling a tea bag into a mug while he fielded the increasingly complex queries. He could have laughed out loud at his own brain, effortlessly distilling staggering complexities into layman's terms for Coulson, while simultaneously running a constant stream of self-deprecating self-analysis and playing host to a vigorous anxiety attack.

_Why can't I just channel all this into being a normal chap for once in my life?_  he mused to himself while drawing a diagram to aid Coulson's understanding. Behind him, Jemma and Skye wandered into the lounge. Skye saw that Coulson had made an unexpected appearance and took the opportunity to grab him for a second, to ask for his input on a recent 084 development the team had been monitoring. And, just as he'd feared, Fitz was left with only his tea bag to focus on.

Jemma walked directly up to him. "Hi Fitz," she said chirpily. "How are you?"

Fitz scratched the back of his neck. "Err, fine thanks." He looked up to find her looking stunning as usual. He took a moment to recover his breath before stammering, "Um.. you?"

"Actually," she began conspiratorially, "I'm glad to find you here. I need your advice about something."

"Oh?" Fitz brightened. "What can I help you with?"

"We've hit a roadblock with our analysis of The Diviner," Jemma sighed. "We're using that modified spectrometer that we built back at the academy but something's off with one of the sampling accessories. I'd really love your input."

"Go ahead," Fitz agreed readily.

To the untrained ears of the team, who wandered unnoticed up to the bench around them, the conversation had descended into rapid-fire unintelligible scientific lingo. The intimate audience of observers exchanged meaningful glances across the lounge behind them. To Skye, Coulson and May, this was the sound of the early days on The Bus, Fitzsimmons in full swing. To Mack, Bobbi and Lance it was a revelation, none of them had yet seen Fitz communing with Simmons over science like this.

Oblivious to their eavesdroppers, Fitz and Simmons thrust and parried theories, counter theories, tests and solutions off the top of their heads at a speed that made the others' heads swim. At last it seemed they came to an agreement on a course of action for Jemma and the lab team.

"Thanks, Fitz," she sighed. "I knew you were the only one who could help me work that through."

Fitz quickly turned his attention back to his dangling tea bag.

Jemma reached into the overhead locker for a mug of her own. "Remember those pots of tea you used to make us when we had to work through the night?"

Fitz laughed. "And the one for early morning, the one for morning tea," he counted on his fingers, "the one with lunch, the afternoon tea one, the pre-dinner pot and the one for before bed?"

"Goodness!" replied Jemma, surprised. "You used to make us  _that_  much tea?"

"Well," said Fitz, focusing his attention on pouring milk into the mug in front of him. "It just seemed to help you whenever we got stuck, remember? We'd hit a wall, I'd make a pot of tea, you'd just hold the cup in your hands and think for a moment and suddenly you'd have solved it." He bent down to put the milk back in the fridge. "Truth be told, I'm not sure I ever saw you actually drink it!"

"Of course I drank it," Jemma laughed, nudging him with her elbow as he straightened up. "And of course it helped. I've told you before, there's something about the way you make a pot of tea. It's…"

"Pretty ordinary?" interjected Fitz.

"No! It's positively…  _medicinal_ ," she breathed.

Fitz looked quietly chuffed.

"Maybe one of these nights you could make us a pot?" she asked, almost shyly.

Fitz nodded, smiling. "Anything you say, Simmons."


	2. Chapter 2

Fitz was a giant Scottish ball of self-loathing.  _How much more positive an encounter_ , he muttered to himself.  _How much more specific an invitation_ , he fumed,  _will I bloody-well need before I finally get up there early enough to make the pot of tea she explicitly asked me to make her?_

At least a week had gone by. Maybe two. But every evening after Mack downed tools and headed up to the lounge, Fitz was still left pottering as though his life depended on it. He felt awkward and uncertain. He felt nervous and panicky, just as he had every day since their talk.  _Which, if anything_ , he shouted internally at himself,  _SHOULD have given me exactly the courage I need to go and bloody-well do it!_

Each morning, especially that first one, he resolved to get up to the lounge early and start brewing the pot of tea. By midday he would have butterflies, by three his palms would be clammy, by seven he'd feel nauseous and by nine-thirty each evening he'd have found a fiddly and unnecessary task with which to busy himself until what he'd come to refer to in the quiet of his own mind as  _Coward Hour_.

At Coward Hour he could slip in and take his usual place next to Mack without a moments hesitation. He could still glance over at Jemma, smile at her apologetically, even make conversation, but he hoped that the implication of his late arrival was that there was so much work to be done that sadly he was too late again for that promised brew.

By now it was eight-thirty. Mack was upstairs being briefed about some mission specs.  _Surely_ , he thought,  _tonight will be the night_. He slammed down his screwdriver and the impact reverberated in the empty garage.

"How hard is it to make her a fecking pot of tea, you pasty Glaswegian basket-case!?" he cried aloud.

"That's what I've been wondering," said an unmistakeable voice behind him. "Though not the pasty Glaswegian part."

Fitz spun to face the garage door. Jemma was standing there, grinning cheekily at him.

"Oh… er… um…," Fitz rubbed the back of his neck, desperately searching for a decent explanation for his outburst.

Thankfully, Jemma charged ahead as if she'd heard nothing at all. "I'm so glad to find you're still here, Fitz," she began. "I need your help."

"You do?" he blinked. And somehow, finding himself needed, his nerves fell away.

She held out her palm. Right in the centre sat a tiny processor from one of the many machines she and Fitz had invented and built together. "It's on the fritz, Fitz," she giggled.

Fitz grinned at her as he reached out to take the offending piece of hardware from her hand. "Ah," he mused. "This little bugger."

"Precisely," Jemma nodded. "Remember how much trouble it used to give us?"

"Didn't we almost blow up our lab getting this thing right?"

"At least once," she agreed.

Fitz ambled over to his workspace and fished about for the tools he needed. Jemma pulled up Mack's wheelie chair and sat companionably next to him while he worked.

ooo

Gathered around the holo-table upstairs, the rest of the team prepped for the next day's mission. Skye, with her ability to take in information from so many cues simultaneously, gave what looked like her full attention to Coulson while nudging Lance next to her and nodding surreptitiously towards the screen of security footage. Lance looked over and grinned. He in turn nudged Bobbi who smiled and alerted Mack.

Coulson and May suddenly found themselves briefing four remarkably talented field agents who were all gazing directly over their heads, grinning like idiots. The two of them turned to see what the fuss was about and not even Agent Melinda May could hold back a small smile when she saw Fitz and Jemma huddled together over a workbench just like the old days.

Coulson turned back to the team. "Ok, can we have a group hug or something and get back to work?"

Skye gave him one of her looks. "You can't pretend you don't love seeing those two working together again."

Coulson glanced back at the screen a moment. Fitz and Jemma were laughing about something while they worked. "You're right," he said, eyes still on them, "I do love it." Then he turned his sharp eyes back on his agents. "But so help me, I'll turn that TV off if you don't give me your full attention right this minute. That includes you, Skye."

"Yes,  _Dad_ ," muttered Skye under breath. She flicked her eyes to the screen once more to see Jemma get up to fetch something and then return to Fitz's side, placing her hand gently on his shoulder. Skye smiled to herself. The cuteness of it made her want to vomit. And it was the closest thing to home she could imagine.


	3. Chapter 3

Fitz and Jemma had taken the repaired processor back over to the lab for some tests. Between them they'd negotiated a range of obstacles and proposed and found solutions. Each of them couldn't help but register afresh how much faster and more efficiently they worked when they were together. With the alphacron's processor restored to its full operational capacity, Jemma turned her attention to Fitz.

"Never been a better time for a celebratory pot of tea, wouldn't you say?" she suggested.

Fitz took a deep breath. "Lead the way, Simmons."

When they got back to The Bus, it wasn't quite ten. Jemma leant against the galley kitchen bench while Fitz rummaged for his long-neglected tin of leaf tea.

"Boil the water will you, Jemma?" he asked as he unearthed his glazed ceramic teapot. He smiled at it like he would an old friend.

"Ah, yes," she nodded, filling the kettle. "It's tricky to stuff that bit up."

Fitz laughed. "It's impossible to stuff any of it up. Making a pot of tea is the simplest thing in the world!"

Simmons shook her head. "You're wrong about that Dr. Leopold Fitz. You have a  _gift_."

Fitz snorted.

"You do!" she cried. "Like I said, your tea has a medicinal quality!"

"I thought you were sceptical about alternative medicine, Dr. Jemma Simmons."

"Tea is hardly  _alternative_  medicine, Fitz. As my Nanna used to say, the first thing they do when you wake up in hospital is offer you a cup of tea, so it must be good for you."

"And with this anecdote we're time-travelling back to?"

"About 1947?"

"Ah."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. But people with the tea brewer's gift, like you,  _should_  be there to make people tea when they wake up in hospital."

Fitz took the boiled kettle from her and gently swirled the steaming water around the cavity of the pot to warm it. He fished out the brown woollen trivet and tea cosy his mum had knitted him. Jemma had always admired the intricate blue and beige argyle pattern his mum had lovingly and painstakingly knitted into them.

Fitz rested the warmed pot on the trivet and performed what Jemma was sure was one of the magical parts of the ritual. She had watched him do this so many times – he never seemed to measure the spoonfuls of tea leaves the same way. And yet, by her fairly accurate reckoning, the same amount of fragile black flakes floated down into the vessel. He seemed to somehow subtly adjust the strength of the tea to the need of the moment or that was how she had always thought of it.

Taking up the freshly boiled kettle, Fitz tipped it with a steady hand, stirring gently so that the rich brown colour swirled out of the leaves and into the water. A third stir, no more. Fitz tapped the teaspoon smartly on the rim of the pot and then carefully replaced the lid with what seemed to Jemma to be a highly satisfying clink. She took up the woollen cosy in her hands and fitted it snugly over the pot, as if carefully wrapping a small child in a warm cardigan. The heat emanating from the pot slowly warmed her hands through the soft wool – she held them there a moment longer, feeling as though it were somehow recharging her.

Fitz had managed to locate the two teacups that were part of the set. They were the same rich brown ceramic as the teapot, the glaze glinting in the light. Jemma watched Fitz warm them the same way as he had the pot and remembered the feel of the cup in her hand. One of them had a slight chip and Fitz had always taken that one for himself, giving her the pristine one, even though she suspected that she was the one who chipped it in a careless washing up incident.

"Take it to the table, Fitz," she said. "I'll get some milk."

Fitz looked over at the lounge. No one was there yet, so, for a moment, his anxieties threatened to flood in. But then reason took hold.  _We are sharing a pot of tea_ , he lectured himself.  _Of course, I need to sit next to her!_  And he boldly claimed the only two seater couch, sitting himself on one half and placing the teapot and cups down on the table in front of him.

In a moment, Jemma sat herself next to him placing a pot of freshly boiled water for top-ups and a small jug of milk down next to the pot. Fitz smiled to himself. It looked like they were settling in for at least an hour of tea drinking.

"Now we wait for the next bit of magic," Jemma whispered.

"What on earth are you talking about, Simmons?" Fitz sighed in mock exasperation.

"The precise moment that it's ready to pour," she replied. "You always seem to intuitively know exactly when to pour it so that it is perfectly brewed."

Fitz shrugged. If only he could read Simmons like he could a teapot. The moment came and Fitz lifted the pot away from its trivet to pour the gloriously rich dark tea into their warmed cups. The scent of Assam, Ceylon and Keemun filled the air and Jemma breathed in deeply, breathing out with a contented sigh.

"It's been too long between drinks, Fitz," she said quietly as she watched him pour a just-right amount of milk into her cup. He held it out to her with both hands and she took it with both of hers, remembering as she did the magical quality of Fitz's teacups. Somehow, despite the scalding temperature of the tea, only a comfortably warming heat permeated the ceramic. These were the ideal teacups to nurse in ones hands, to warm oneself while one nutted through a problem and surmounted an obstacle.

And as Jemma raised the cup to her lips and sipped at Fitz's superlative brew, another of those obstacles fell away and a solution became perfectly clear.

She let both Fitz and herself take a quiet moment to savour the culmination of this ritual that had been almost as much a glue in their friendship as the mutual love of science and discovery that initially brought them together. Then she took a deep breath.

"Fitz," she began. "I've been thinking."

"Mmm?" he responded, his whole body suddenly more at peace than he'd felt in a long time.

"I have a proposition for you."

He looked openly back at her, emboldened by the restoration of something so significant between them.

"I know you chose the garage and I know you had your reasons, but I wonder," she paused to take another empowering sip. "I wonder if you could think about the possibility of spending a proportion of your week in the lab with me."

"A proportion?" Fitz asked.

"Like one day a week?" she suggested tentatively. "Or maybe an hour or two each day? Or every other day if that's too much?"

She placed her cup down in front of her and looked earnestly into his eyes. "Fitz, we were great today. And every time I've come to you for help recently we've solved the problem in half the time I would have on my own." Jemma was talking fast now, as if the sheer volume of words could hold off the refusal she felt sure was coming. "Wasn't that why we started working together at The Academy? We were twice as smart together, remember?"

Fitz suddenly broke into a grin.

"What?" she asked suspiciously, her eyes narrowed.

"How's this," he responded, placing his cup down next to hers. "What if I start each day with you. I'll make us a pot of tea, we can talk about what you've got on in the lab and I can bring my challenges from the garage. Then, if it's something we want to work on together, we can, and if not, or if Mack needs me, I'll go back to the garage. Would that work?"

Jemma was speechless. She had no expectation of him actually agreeing but he had just suggested the most wonderful arrangement she could have imagined. She impulsively threw her arms around his neck. Fitz hugged her back without letting himself overthink it. He was delighted by the possibility of a return to the way they used to be, while still maintaining a place to which he could escape if he felt it was too much.

At that moment, Mack wandered into the lounge. His eyes widened to see Fitz and Jemma embracing on the lounge but Fitz grinned at him and winked over Jemma's shoulder as they disentangled themselves from one another and returned to their teacups.

Mack chuckled silently as he bent down to retrieve a beer from the fridge. Nice to be on the receiving end of a wink from Turbo at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is just possible that this story is as much a homage to a good pot of tea as it is to the glory that is Fitzsimmons? Well, who doesn't want a man with mad tea brewing skillz?
> 
> Yes, the alphacron is a thing I just googled. What the heck is an alphacron!?!?


	4. Chapter 4

It was all going fairly well until she stabbed herself in the eye with her mascara wand. Why on earth she was even applying mascara in the first place was not yet entirely clear to her. She rinsed her eye with cold water until it seemed to feel better and look less red. Then she moved on to rectifying the make-up disaster which was no mean feat. Thankfully, though it was certainly out of character, she had given quite a bit of thought to her outfit the previous evening and it hung ready on the back of her door.

Looking at it afresh, she noticed that despite all her effort, she had selected older clothes, ones she hadn't worn since… well, ones she hadn't worn in a while. Clothes that seemed to hold happy memories. Clothes from a simpler time. She didn't want to think too hard about why today got so much extra effort, she just wanted to make sure she was on time to meet Fitz in the lounge for their first go at starting their days together.

When she arrived in the lounge at the appointed hour of seven-thirty, Fitz had his back to her at the galley kitchen but the teacups, milk jug, hot water pot and tea pot already waited on the table. She could smell the tea brewing along with another wonderfully familiar smell.

He turned around as he heard her approach and she saw that he'd just pulled a freshly baked tray of her favourite fig and vanilla bean muffins out of the oven.

"Oh Fitz! You baked too!?"

He had made these for her whenever she was homesick at The Academy. Both of them would sail through so much of their assessment work that they found quite a lot of time for recipe development. This was the era in which she had perfected her homemade pesto aioli. As the one with the sweeter tooth, she had inspired all kinds of gourmet baking adventures for Fitz and this recipe – the fig and vanilla bean muffins – had been a triumph. On the spot she resolved to make a batch of pesto aioli for him as soon as she could spare the time.

At last she looked from the muffins to the man himself. He was back in a shirt and tie for the first time in what seemed like ages. And the cardigan he'd paired with them was the navy one with the fluorescent orange trim she'd given him for his last birthday before things went south with Ward. She'd chosen navy because it did such wonderful things for his cornflower blue eyes. Combined with the effect of the tea, the muffins and the tie, the navy seemed to be working just fine for him this morning.

She sighed as she sank into the couch. "Fig and vanilla bean. How I've missed you."

Fitz grinned and sat next to her, pouring her tea just how she liked it. He handed her a palette knife. "Want to try levering one of those out of the tin?" he asked.

After successfully freeing a muffin, Jemma sank her teeth into it and found herself so eager to pass on her compliments to the chef that she sprayed crumbs all over their piles of notes.

"Ok, ok," Fitz laughed. "I'll take that as a thumbs up."

Jemma loved working with Fitz again. As soon as they'd eaten their fill of muffins, they got straight to work and together solved each of their individual challenges in almost no time. She would describe a problem, he would ask an insightful question, she would make a point of clarification, he would propose a suggestion, she would raise a logistical issue, he would ponder, she would draw a diagram and suddenly she'd see a way forward. She'd tell him her theory, he'd agree it would work but suggest a slight variation on her proposal and suddenly everything seemed perfectly clear.

Similarly, he'd lay out a blue print and point out a flaw. She would turn it slightly to one side, ask about why he'd made a particular decision about choice of materials and propose an alternative. He'd run a quick simulation on his tablet and find she was perfectly correct.

Fitz had set an alarm to go off at nine to prompt him not to overstay his welcome. "Right," he said, suddenly getting to his feet. "Unless you need me for anything else, I might get back to the garage."

Jemma looked up in surprise, finding herself not quite ready to let him go. "You're right, of course," she said. "I should be getting back too."

"I'm taking one of these muffins down to Mack – do you want to take the rest to the lab?" he offered.

Jemma got to her feet. "I want all the muffins you can spare!" she cried, picking up the teapot and milk jug, carrying them over to the sink and starting to run some hot water.

"Let me wash up," Fitz said, placing down the cups he'd just carried over and taking the teapot out of her hands. "You have troops to command."

Jemma accepted that he was probably right but she really didn't want to leave. She dawdled back to the couch and gathered her belongings.

Fitz was there when she turned around with the rest of the muffins on a plate.

"Can't guarantee I'm going to share these," she confessed.

"I was only thinking of you when I made them," he chuckled. "Go on, eat them all!"

"You're not going to bake like this every morning, are you?"

Fitz shrugged. "I might."

"Oh dear," Jemma laughed. "I'd better get back in the habit of starting the day on the treadmill."

"Nah," Fitz shook his head. "Start the day here with me." And he gave her a wave and turned back to the washing up.


	5. Chapter 5

Fitz and Jemma were each regularly caught whistling at inappropriate moments, there was a sudden proliferation of high quality baked goods around the S.H.I.E.L.D. facility, and the lab and garage were hives of previously unimaginable productivity. Jemma and Fitz's morning routine was now sacred to both of them. They started their day together over a pot of tea, some baking and a to-do list of impossible tasks, went their separate ways to achieve said impossible tasks and then were reunited at the end of the day. They were now always the first to arrive in the lounge of an evening to brew more tea, claim the couch and debrief over their activities while apart.

One such evening, Coulson leaned over the back of the couch on which the two of them sat. "FitzSimmons, just a heads up that I'll be crashing your tea party tomorrow morning."

"Of course, sir," said Jemma. "Is everything ok?"

"I'll brief you in the morning. And Fitz?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I want to sample some of this baking everyone's been talking about."

"Of course, sir," Fitz grinned. "Any preferences?"

Jemma rested her hand on Fitz' forearm. "That rhubarb danish you made last week!"

Fitz shook his head. "No, what about the lemon poppy seed friands?"

"I know," Jemma enthused. "The German coffee cake."

Fitz nodded. "Yes. Good choice." He looked over his shoulder. "Sound alright to you, sir?" But Coulson had already left the lounge. Fitz looked back at Jemma sheepishly.

"Want some help baking it?" she offered.

"Sure, you can be my kitchen hand." He always jumped at opportunities to spend more time with Simmons. "Meet me here at 0600?"

"You're on," she yawned, getting up and taking their two tea cups and the milk jug over to the sink.

He followed after her with the teapot. "I wonder what Coulson's up to."

"Guess we'll find out in the morning," she replied, filling the sink with hot sudsy water and taking the pot out of his hands. "It's my turn to wash up," she stated. "Go on, you go to bed."

"Alright," he nodded slowly. "Night."

"Night," she replied over the clink of crockery. "Oh, and Fitz?"

"Mmm?" he replied, half turning on the top stair.

"Better bring your baking A-game for the director."

Fitz scoffed. "When have you ever known me  _not_  to bring my baking A-game?" he asked playfully.

"Actually," Jemma replied seriously, "You're a better baker than my nanna. And the whole family would cast me out if they heard me say that, but it's true. You could take out some serious prizes at the Chatsworth County Fair."

He laughed as he descended the steps. "I might need a curly wig with a blue rinse."

"That can be arranged," she called after him.

Fitz ambled off to bed with a smile on his face. He loved those last few minutes of banter with Simmons as they parted each night. Then he remembered that Coulson was meeting with them in the morning. He gave what was left of his mental energy to trying to predict the task. His guess was that it would have something to do with Skye and her mysterious and frightening "gift".

…

It seemed Fitz's guess was correct. Over early morning German coffee cake, Coulson briefed Fitz and Simmons on their upcoming mission.

"Look, FitzSimmons," he began, laying down his sparsely crumbed plate. "I don't think I've yet said how great it is to see you two collaborating again. Personally, I'm delighted – the pair of you were key ingredients in the glue that brought our original team together. Professionally, I'm awed. The productivity of both the lab and the garage has reached unprecedented heights."

Fitz and Simmons smiled bashfully back at him.

"But truthfully, I think we're about to face the time when we'll most need you united, both for your combined skills and for what you contribute relationally to one another and to the rest of us."

Like in the old days, Fitz and Simmons simultaneously leaned forward and rested their chins on their right fists. Coulson took it as an encouraging sign.

"The aim of this mission is two-fold. Skye has this "gift". We want to understand it better. We want to know both the extent of her powers and how badly it depletes her strength. Secondly, we want to know what we can do to help her control it, or, if necessary, in the case that she can't control it, how we can stop her from causing an event without harming her.

The pair in front of him nodded gravely.

"You'll have three weeks to prepare. Work with Mack. This morning he's taking delivery of the vehicle that will be home to the three of you for a month. The Bus will drop you in the Atacama Desert in Chile. It's extremely remote to reduce the chances of Skye causing harm to anyone."

"Or harm to herself," Simmons added.

"Exactly," Coulson nodded. "Chances are, given what we've seen so far, Skye will be catatonic for days at a time after each test of her powers. So, FitzSimmons? I need to make one thing clear."

Two earnest faces looked back at him, ready for orders.

"Whatever it is that is unspoken between you, whatever tension might remain, or feelings that might need dealing with, you're going to have a lot of time to think and talk about them in the desert. You can decide to go your separate ways afterwards if you like, heck, you can decide to start a family. None of that is my concern. What  _is_  my concern is Skye and her well-being. She is going to need you two for reassurance, for company, for light-relief, for emotional support. The two of you are going to be her family out there so you are going to need to be at peace with one another." He looked pointedly at Fitz. "There can be none of this finding it too painful to work together business. Once you commit to this mission, you're stuck with one another." He paused and shook his head. "I only wish I could be there for her myself."

Fitz spoke up, seeking Simmons' eyes. "We can do it, can't we Jemma? You'll be able to put up with me for Skye's sake?"

She nodded vigorously.

He turned to Coulson. "Jemma and I can do it, sir. You don't have to worry about Skye."

"That's right," Jemma corroborated. "Skye will come first."

Coulson looked from one to the other. "Ok." He pulled out his tablet. "Here's what you're going to need." He turned his attention to Jemma. "You're chief medical officer, obviously. Take all your usual gear, as much as you can work with Mack to store in the vehicle, but you'll also need to work with Fitz to develop some advanced monitoring equipment. We don't just need vitals, we need to rig up some kind of seismographic monitors to measure the effect of each event on Skye's brain and body."

Jemma had pulled out her own tablet and was nodding as she scribbled down notes in a baffling short hand of her own creation. Fitz was the only other person who could read it, and he used it too. Coulson turned to Fitz.

"Fitz, you'll need to work on a means of administering a targeted sedation that Jemma will have to create. It needs to not only put her to sleep but also somehow prevent her from causing an event, or stop one before it really gets going. Obviously, our aim is to help her learn to control her own powers, but at least in the early days I imagine we'll need to have the ability to step in when she can't. Trick is, we might have to be able to administer it from a significant distance away."

The pair of them kept nodding and scribbling on their tablets.

"We need to understand her triggers," Coulson continued. "We'll need comms that can withstand seismic activity. I'll have to ask you to talk to her about subjects that are emotionally painful for her. We need to know her weaknesses to ensure we can protect her."

"Are you worried about her father, sir?" Jemma asked.

Coulson looked back at her from under a furrowed brow. "Sure, I'm worried about Cal." He paused. "But it's Ward who I'm losing sleep over."

"Ward?" A cloud came over Fitz's face. "You think he'll come after us?"

Coulson shook his head. "The last time he saw Skye, she gave him some bullets to the abdomen. I don't think he'll be in a rush to track her down." He smiled to himself. "I'm proud of that girl." He shook his head, remembering the urgency of the task at hand. "But it didn't escape my notice, and it wouldn't have escaped his, that her shots were non-lethal. She had the opportunity to kill him, and plenty of motive, but she clearly still has feelings for him, confused as they must be." He sighed. "Look, I want Skye to come out of this process empowered and in control, but in order for her to get there she's going to need to be confronted with the depths of her emotional baggage – the loss of her mother, the circumstances of her childhood, the realities of her father and whatever weakness she might still harbour where Ward is concerned."

Jemma looked sympathetically from Coulson to Fitz. "We understand," she stated simply. "Will you brief Skye about us testing her triggers?"

"Of course," Coulson replied. "She'll know what's ahead."

"Sir," Fitz said. "What can you tell us about the specs of the vehicle?"

"Ah," Coulson grinned. "I admit, it's a little unorthodox."

A deep voice rumbled from the stairwell preceding the appearance of Mack's head. "Um, sir? They've delivered a Winnebago." He looked unimpressed. "Are you sure I should sign off on that?"

Coulson nodded. "That's what we ordered. But you're going to get to pimp it out, ok Mack?"

A grin grew slowly across the big man's face. "Whatever you say, sir." And he turned and disappeared back down the stairs.

"A Winnebago?" Fitz asked. "Isn't that like a campervan?"

"It's not  _like_  a campervan," Coulson replied, a twinkle in his eye. "It  _is_  a campervan. And by the time Mack's done with it, it's going to be the most tricked out campervan you've ever been in."

"Given that I'm yet to experience being in a campervan, that's not going to be too hard."

"Now Fitz," Coulson chided. "Don't be a hater. Wait til you've tried it."

Fitz and Jemma grinned at one another.

"Another thing," Coulson added, returning to briefing mode. "You're going to need to put your heads together to work out how to build a suspended isolation chamber into the camper for Skye. We're not sure what extended use of her powers might bring on and, in our experience of 084s, sometimes power can be exerted unintentionally by the subject while they sleep. For the safety of all of you, you want her to be unable to affect her environment while she sleeps, especially if she does tend to sink into post-event catatonia."

Jemma let out a low whistle. "Three weeks prep you say?"

"Should I leave you to it?"

They didn't even answer. Already their heads were bent towards each other with Jemma sketching a diagram on her tablet while Fitz asked questions and made suggestions.

Coulson smiled. "Guess I'll just get out of your way then."

No response.

"Skye's clearly in good hands," he added but they were too far gone to hear.


	6. Chapter 6

FitzSimmons and Mack had been working from early morning until late into the night every day for a week. So many decisions needed to be made, and equipment invented or modified before they could start work on configuring the camper, that the benches in the garage were strewn with blueprints and notes and the holo-table upstairs was working overtime running simulations for them.

Jemma was in the middle of transferring piles of notes and plans from the garage to the lab so she was rushing back and forth, bickering good-naturedly with Fitz as she came and went.

"… and you should know that by now, Fitz! It only comes up in every version of Trivial Pursuit ever released…" her voice trailed off as she disappeared down the corridor. "Even the Barbie version!" was the last faint cry of protest they could make sense of.

Fitz chuckled to himself as he turned back to his workspace and refocused on the suspended chamber he was designing for Skye.

In an instant, Mack was at his side. "Ok," he rumbled. "I need to get your input while Simmons is out of the room."

Out in the corridor, Jemma, who was back to pick up something she forgot and just about to throw in another Trivial Pursuit themed barb from the doorway, closed her open mouth and listened.

"Talk to me about how we arrange the beds, Turbo," Mack went on, grinning. "We've got to maximise opportunities for the magic to happen between you and your science lady."

Jemma's mouth fell open again. It's true, she could be accused of being not all that quick on the uptake where innuendo was concerned, but Mack was unmistakeable. She felt cold all over. How Fitz would respond was suddenly the most crucial thing in the world. She checked her position to ensure she could see and hear them but they couldn't see her. Fitz was leaning against the bench, arms locked, head down. He heaved a sigh.

"Mack?" he ventured. "It's not like I'm some loser desperate for a shag, you know."

Mack nodded. "I know, I know. It's just that you're crazy about her, right?" He nudged Fitz with his elbow. "C'mon, am I right?"

Fitz shrugged.

"And you're going to be out there in the middle of the desert, alone with her for a whole month, with Skye unconscious for days at a time…" he raised his eyebrows at Fitz, waiting for him to catch on.

Fitz rubbed at the back of his neck. "Look, Mack, I appreciate the thought, but…"

"But what?"

"I don't know if you understand…"

"Oh, I understand, alright," Mack continued, grinning. "You like her, you just struggle to find the opportunity – well, help me make you an opportunity."

"No!" Fitz said, surprisingly sharply, and Mack took a step back.

"Mack," Fitz implored. "She isn't interested. I want to be a good man. And good men have to believe in a woman's right not to want to be with them."

"Huh?" Mack looked baffled. Outside, Jemma smiled to herself. Feminist Leo Fitz. She'd taught him well.

"I want you to talk to Jemma about how to organise our sleeping arrangements," he said firmly.

"But Fitz!" Mack was going to make him spell it out and Jemma was transfixed.

Fitz was almost shouting now. "Look, Mack, she doesn't love me! And I don't want to try and make something happen between Jemma and I while we're stuck out in the desert – out of boredom, or out of some advantage that comes about because you put our beds in the right configuration!" he fumed. "Jemma Simmons is the most precious person in the entire world to me! I want her to feel utterly safe. I want her to have all the privacy she needs. I want her to feel completely comfortable. I want all of the awkward, unsaid stuff to be as far away from the day-to-day reality of our relationship as it can possible get!" He suddenly sighed. "And if later in our lives, by some incredible turn of events, she falls in love with me the way that I'm in love with her?" He shrugged again speaking more quietly now, "Then I can't imagine the furniture arrangements will come into it at all. But I won't be making any moves, ok? I won't be the one starting that conversation. I wish I could reassure her that she doesn't have to worry about another love confession from me. If, in some parallel universe, she should ever decide that she wants to be with me, she's going to have to be the one to bring it up."

Mack had retreated a few paces back with both hands in the air. "Sorry, Turbo," he said quietly. "You're right, man."

"It's alright, Mack," he replied. "I know you're just looking out for me. But right now I have another shot at the friendship she and I used to have and I'm not jeopardising that for anything. Talk to Jemma about the beds, ok?"

Mack nodded, turning back to his work bench. "Whatever you say, man."

Out in the corridor, Jemma stood completely still, a smile on her face. Fitz didn't know it and as yet she had only twigged to the vaguest haze of possibility, but that incredible turn of events wasn't nearly as unlikely as he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if I've maligned Mack here, but I just wanted to give Fitz a chance to show some feminist chops!


	7. Chapter 7

Fitz stumbled into the lounge late that night, rubbing his eyes. He hadn't seen Simmons all afternoon and he was looking forward to their evening debrief. He fumbled through the storage locker to find his teapot and leaves. Removing the lid to warm the pot, he found a hand-written note scrawled on a scrap of blueprint and shoved inside. It was Jemma's unmistakeable handwriting. "My bunk – NOW!"

He smiled to himself, balling the paper up in his hand.  _What are you up to, Simmons?_

He knocked on the door of her bunk and it slid open. "Quick!" she whispered. "Inside!"

Fitz slipped in the door, pulling it closed behind him. "What's going on, Jemma?" he whispered, turning to look at her.

And she was sitting on her bed, surrounded by Chinese take-away containers, grinning and clicking a pair of chopsticks at him. "Hungry?" she asked.

Fitz was incredulous. "Always," he breathed, sitting down next to her.

"Tuck in then," she encouraged, handing him some chopsticks.

"Steamed dumplings?"

"Of course!"

"Moo Shu Pork with pancakes?"

"Do you even need to ask?"

"Kung Po Beef?"

"Fitz! What do you take me for?

"General Tso's Chicken?"

"As if I'd leave that out."

"Szechuan Shrimp?"

"Honestly…"

"And Hunan Duck?"

"You act as if I've never ordered Chinese take-away before!"

"Well," Fitz murmured, "I guess it's been a little while."

"It has, I know. I'm sorry. But today you really deserve it. Oh, and I almost forgot dessert," she said, handing him a bag of fortune cookies.

"Simmons, you are the  _best_."

She smiled beatifically as he got stuck into the closest carton.

"What prompted you to think I deserve this?" he asked, his mouth full of duck and special fried rice.

She shrugged. "Just something you said earlier."

"Mmph?" he queried. "What was that?"

"I don't recall the particulars," she lied. "But it was pretty awesome."

Fitz grinned happily at her as he handed her the carton of chicken and reached for the shrimp. "Well, I'm not going to argue with you!"

"Oh, and Fitz?" she said, reaching behind her for her laptop. "I've got the new series of  _Sherlock_!"

"Really? This night just gets better and better!" he crowed.

She set it up at the foot of her bed and the two of them shuffled around to the lean against the bedhead. It was not lost on Fitz that they had to sit  _very_  close to one another, balancing all the take-away containers somewhat precariously in their laps.

"And one more thing." She leaned down to the floor and then straightened up holding a couple of bottles of Dark Island Reserve Scottish Ale.

Fitz's jaw dropped. "Whatever I said, it must have been  _really_ good."

"Trust me," Jemma replied, nudging him affectionately with her elbow. "It  _was_. There's a whole case down here."

"Ok, so six hours of great telly, twenty four of my favourite beers, enough Chinese food to feed a small island nation," Fitz enthused. "And you."

"And me. Good surprise?" she asked, already sure of the answer.

Fitz impulsively threw his arm over her shoulder and kissed the top of her head. "The best." He went to draw his arm away but Jemma grabbed his hand. "I might need you to keep your arm there to stop me from falling off the bed," she giggled. "Can you cope one-handed?"

Fitz couldn't quite believe his luck. "I think I can manage," he said jovially, clinking his beer bottle against hers. "Still got my good arm free for shovelling in food."

Jemma nestled in against him before clicking the remote to start  _Sherlock_  and taking up the Moo Shu Pork to hold between them.

Fitz rested his head back against the wall and grinned up at the ceiling, as if offering a prayer of thanks for his excellent fortune. When he looked back down, Jemma was smiling at him. "I wonder what the Chinese take-away will be like in the Atacama Desert?"

"I can live without the take-out," he said boldly. "As long as I'll have you with me."

"I feel the same way," she whispered, and snuggled back against him to watch the screen.


	8. Chapter 8

Jemma woke the next morning to a horribly loud banging sound right next to her head.

"Mmph?"

She went to roll over but was prevented by warm arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She relaxed back into the embrace and closed her eyes.

Suddenly there was the banging again.

The comfortable foundation on which she rested her head seemed to shift beneath her. She groaned.

She heard a muffled voice from the other side of the door. "Simmons?" It was Skye. "Are you in there?"

"Mmm," she replied.

"Can I come in?" Skye called.

"If you absolutely  _have_  to," she murmured.

The bunk door slid open noisily, jolting Jemma into semi-consciousness. She blinked in the light. Above her, Skye was looking distinctly scandalised.

"What is it?" Jemma whispered, sleepily.

"You and Fitz!" Skye hissed back.

"Me and Fitz what?"

"You spent the night together!"

Jemma shook her head. "No we didn't," she mumbled. "We just watched  _Sherlock_  and then…"

Skye took in the bottles littering the floor. "And then fell asleep in a drunken stupor?"

"Yes, that's right. Well, the sleep part is right at least."

Skye pointed to the bed next to her then yanked the curtains open. "He's still here, Jemma."

Jemma's eyes suddenly opened wide. "He is?"

"Has he had his arms wrapped around you like that all night long?" Skye cooed. "That's kind of adorable."

Jemma managed to disentangle herself from Fitz's embrace enough to sit up. "Umm… can you give us a moment, please, Skye?"

Skye held up her palms. "Of course. But find me in the lounge as soon as you can, ok? Coulson wants to see the three of us."

"Ok," Jemma nodded.

Skye left, sliding the bunk door closed behind her.

Jemma looked at Fitz, still snoozing gently beside her. She rubbed her head. It was a bit painful. She was also feeling a mite peckish. She spotted the unopened bag of fortune cookies threatening to disappear down the gap between the bed and the wall and reached over Fitz to rescue them. The movement combined with the loud crackling of the cellophane bag woke him.

"Simmons?" he asked, disoriented.

"Here," she mumbled, shoving the bag of cookies at him. "Breakfast."

He squinted in the bright light streaming through her window as he absent-mindedly reached into the bag. He sat up next to her, leaning bleary-eyed against the bedhead.

"Good morning," he murmured sleepily, breaking the cookie. "Looks like I overstayed my welcome."

" _Rarely do great beauty and great virtue dwell together as they do in you,_ " Jemma replied.

Fitz blinked rapidly. He looked over to see that she was reading from her fortune. He laughed, "Why, thank you."

"I think the cookie meant  _me_ ," she pointed out.

"Of course," he nodded. "It's like the cookie  _knows_  you."

"Shut up, Fitz," Jemma yawned.

"Don't you want to hear my fortune?" He turned it the right way up. " _A man without aim is like a clock without hands, as useless if it turns as if it stands_." He paused for a moment. "Oh, it's too early in the morning for this sort of thing," and he reached for another.

Jemma was already breaking open her second cookie. " _Punctuality is the politeness of kings and the duty of gentle people everywhere._  Coulson's not going to be very impressed with us then."

"But Jemma,  _A merry heart does good like a medicine_ ," Fitz laughed, spraying cookie crumbs on the bed spread.

"Gross, Fitz!" she cried, elbowing him in the ribs.

As if wrestling with the little sister he never had, Fitz grabbed her playfully round the waist and lifted her onto his lap. She immediately began tickling him furiously until Fitz cried out for mercy.

She slumped back against the wall, giggling, her legs still lying across Fitz's lap. He reached for the bag of cookies, offered her one and fished another one out for himself.

" _A wish is what makes life happen when you dream of rose petals_ ," she informed him faux-earnestly, popping the two halves of the cookie into her mouth.

"Well, that's good to know," he replied, rolling his eyes. "And apparently  _A new wardrobe brings great joy and change to your life_. Well, that's it, Simmons. You'll have to take me shopping right away."

She laughed, only slightly sad that such a shopping trip would be impossible. "We better get up, Fitz," she sighed.

"Do we have to?" he groaned. "I just want to stay here with you and eat congealed Chinese food."

"Me too," she agreed. "Alright, you get up first."

"Why me?" he asked. "You're the one with your legs draped all over me."

"And whose fault is that, I ask you?" she shot back archly.

"Alright, alright," he grumbled good-naturedly. "I'm moving."

She smiled up at him, holding out the almost empty cellophane bag as he clambered to his feet. "Want a fortune cookie for the road?"

"Don't mind if I do," he replied, fishing one out. "Make sure you report anything of note from that fortune though, won't you?" he said, pointing out the last cookie in the bag. "I'd hate to miss out on any gems of quasi-Confucian psycho-babble."

"Scout's honour," she saluted solemnly.

Fitz winked, then slipped out of Jemma's bunk and headed to his own to brush his teeth and change clothes.

Left alone, Jemma cracked open her last cookie.  _You will take a pleasant journey to a place far away._  She smiled. The Atacama Desert, Chile was pretty far away.

Nearer by, a slightly fresher Fitz, now clad in the shirt, tie and cardigan that he happened to know was Jemma's favourite combination, broke open his own last cookie. The slip of paper fell neatly into his hands. On it was printed  _She's in love with you. Trust me. She is._

He stood still and gazed wide-eyed at the paper for a moment, smiling to himself. Then he caught his own reflection in the mirror.  _Dr Leopold Fitz_ , he lectured himself.  _Aren't you a man who values reason above all else? You're not taking encouragement from a kitsch Chinese baked good that came free with some Szechuan Shrimp now, are you?_  He glared at himself a moment longer before shoving the broken cookie into his mouth and neatly tucking the fortune into the breast pocket of his shirt. He patted it a few times then shook his head and left to find Jemma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even the fortune cookies want them to be together!


	9. Chapter 9

When they finally found Skye in the lounge, she could not keep the smirk off her face. "Nice night, you two?"

"Shut up, Skye," they rejoined in jovial unison.

"Ok, Fitz, you and I are off to Coulson's office. Simmons, Mack needs you in the garage to talk about beds or something."

Fitz suddenly found the ground extremely interesting and Jemma had to hold back a smile. "Beds? Ok, whatever," she said nonchalantly and strode off to the staircase.

"Oh, one more thing," she turned on her heel.

"What's that?" Skye asked.

"I think we should give Fitz naming rights for the campervan."

Fitz beamed at her while Skye looked mortified. "Really?" they asked in unison, in tones that matched their faces.

"You're about to hear what he's modified the dwarves to do – it's  _amazing_ ," Jemma explained, and Fitz went a little bit red round the ears. "No one deserves to name this campervan more than him."

"So, lover boy," Skye began once Simmons was out of earshot. "You must have had the best night of your pasty life last night, hey?"

Fitz managed to stay cool. "Chinese food, beer,  _Sherlock_ , Simmons – what's not to love?" he replied laconically.

"Hmph," Skye laughed. "Very suavely, played, Fitzy Boy."

"Fitzy Boy?" he repeated, eyebrows high.

"Ok. So, not the most biting moniker ever bestowed," she acknowledged.

"Not remotely."

Coulson hung up the phone as the two of them entered.

"Where's Simmons?" he inquired as the two of them sat down.

"Talking beds with Mack," Skye explained.

Coulson briefly raised his eyebrows and then ploughed on, thinking it better not to know.

"Ok, Fitz, can you give me a progress report on the camper plans?"

ooo

Downstairs, Jemma was secretly enjoying Mack's somewhat obsequious manner. He was at pains to make up for what he'd said to Fitz, even though as far as he knew, Jemma has no idea what had transpired.

"So, Fitz said he thought you might have some ideas about how we should modify the sleeping arrangements."

"Modify?" she asked. "What's wrong with the way they are?"

"Well, once we fit Skye's isolation chamber into the camper here," he pointed, "The remaining bed is just this one double mattress on a frame that pulls down from the wall like this," he explained apologetically as he demonstrated.

Jemma clambered onto the lowered bed, bouncing slightly to test the mattress. She shrugged. "That sounds ok to me."

Mack looked confused. "It does?"

"Sure."

"No, I don't think you understand," he went on as she stretched herself out across the bed. "That means that you and Fitz would have to, ahem, share this bed every night."

"Did Coulson say no to that?"

Mack's eyes grew wider. "Well,  _he_  didn't say no. Fitz and I just kind of thought that  _you_  might not like the idea."

"I guess we might get on one another's nerves," she allowed.

"It's kind of close proximity though, isn't it?" he half-heartedly argued what he imagined to be her rightful perspective. "Every night in the same bed? Mostly alone together for a month?"

"Oh, Mack," Jemma laughed, propping herself up on one elbow. "You don't think I'd be worried about Fitz trying anything untoward, do you?"

Mack shook his head emphatically. "No Ma'am. I know for certain that you can absolutely trust my boy, Fitz. He would have to be one of the last remaining true gentlemen."

"Precisely," Jemma agreed. "So, the two of us sharing a bed will be fine."

Mack looked concerned.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Well, it's just that, umm…" He hesitated, unsure of exactly how to proceed.

"Go on, Mack," she encouraged. "We're both adults."

"It's just that, say Fitz were to find your sleeping quarters a bit too…"

"Too constricted?" she offered, stretching both her arms out as if to test the width of the mattress.

"No, I was going for something a little more along the lines of, umm… oh, never mind."

"Mmm?" she raised an eyebrow, secretly revelling in the pain she was inflicting on Mack.

"Well," Mack stammered. "I-it might make it a bit difficult for him to get much in the way of rest."

Jemma narrowed her eyes, taking her revenge on Mack for his attempt at misguiding Fitz earlier in the day. "Has Fitz given you any indication that the two of us sharing a bed would be problematic for him?"

Mack looked genuinely perturbed. "I just think you might want to discuss it with him before we charge ahead."

"Oh, alright," she said airily. "Only if you think it'll be really necessary." And she swung her legs off the bed and sat up, smiling sweetly, and then got up and swanned out of the room leaving poor Mack practically dying of awkwardness over his work bench.

ooo

Jemma sidled into Coulson's office to join the others with the slightest hint of an evil grin on her face.

They were each holding a mug of something and talking earnestly about the upcoming mission.

"What was the bed thing all about?" Skye asked as soon as she sat down.

Jemma shook her head. "Oh, Mack has this crazy notion that he should go out of his way and rig up some special bedding arrangement for us rather than just leave us to share the perfectly good double bed that's already installed."

Fitz coughed, spluttered and then spat his tea all over Coulson's desk.

Skye barely managed to disguise her glee.

Jemma patted him condescendingly on the leg. "We can have a little chat about it later."

"Right," Coulson continued, mopping at his desk and flicking his glance from one young face to the next. "Now, Skye, Fitzsimmons are going to have your back out there, alright?"

She nodded, trying to keep a straight face.

"And I'm going to do my best to come out and see you at least once. May wants to try and make it too." He shifted his attention back to Simmons. "Why don't you explain to Skye what you were discussing with me earlier about her isolation chamber."

"Of course, sir," Jemma nodded curtly, firing up her tablet and holding it so that Skye could see. "Our plan is to install your chamber in this section of the camper," she pointed to the diagram that had flashed up onto the screen. "Fitz, do you want to explain how it works?"

"It's a little tricky to distill into layman's terms," mused Fitz, who seemed to have quickly composed himself after Jemma's earlier revelation. "But essentially, the chamber will be suspended in such a way that should you exert your powers in your sleep, your surroundings should remain unaffected."

"And," Jemma went on, "Given that we don't yet know much about your powers, and that they're so new to you, we're taking the precaution of enforcing your sleep patterns."

"Enforcing?" Skye repeated warily.

"I'm sorry, Skye," Jemma went on. "As Fitz hinted, extensive S.H.I.E.L.D. research suggests that in the early days of coping with newfound powers, your abilities can surge out of your control and this is never more the case than just as you drift in and out of consciousness."

"I'm fine right now," Skye replied defensively. "No one's felt any tremors while I've been falling asleep, have they?"

"Skye, this is because Fitzsimmons will be putting you through your paces out there," Coulson said gently. "You're going to be testing the limits of your powers. That's why we need to take these precautions."

Simmons glanced at Coulson to see if she should continue. He nodded.

"Here's how it will work," she went on. "For the most part, we'll need you to be as well-rested as possible, though at some point in the mission we might have to see what part sleep deprivation will play in your control of your powers. Each night you'll enter your chamber at 10pm. Director Coulson insists that because of the dangers we've described, we can't really have you stumbling around in the middle of the night to get a drink of water. So," she hesitated briefly before charging on. "We're actually going to sedate you using a non-addictive, side-effect-free organic compound in gas form that I've been working with in the lab. It's perfectly safe and highly effective," she added reassuringly. "I've even tested it on Fitz and myself."

Fitz looked up, confused. "I don't remember you testing it on me."

"See?" said Jemma, smiling brightly at Skye. "Completely safe and effective. Then at 8am each morning, we'll blow a blast of another organic compound, an antidote of sorts, into your chamber to wake you."

"What about if I'm comatose for a few days, like what happened after… after that first night," Skye asked tentatively, and then disappeared into her thoughts for a moment as Trip's face appeared in all of their minds.

After a beat, Jemma broke the silence. "Unfortunately, the compound to wake you won't have an effect in that case," she explained apologetically. "We'll just have to let you sleep it off."

Skye shrugged, then, making the best of a bad situation, a mischievous grin grew slowly across her face. "And while I'm unconscious for eight hours every night and catatonic for a few days at a time, what are you two going to get up to?" she nudged Fitz in the ribs. "Same bed, hey, Fitzy Boy?"

Fitz gave her a distinctly school-teacherish stare and Coulson coughed emphatically.

"Ok, ok," Skye responded. "I'm paying attention."

Jemma glared at her and then continued on with her explanation. "We'll use a similar process should you pass out. Fitz has been modifying the dwarves so that they can actually lift and transport you back to the camper. Tell them, Fitz," she prompted.

"First of all," began Fitz, "You should know that I've taken full advantage of the naming rights bestowed on me for this mission. Henceforth, the camper shall be known as  _The Flying Haggis_." He looked victoriously around at the room at the others who rolled their eyes. Only Jemma was encouraging.

"I like it, Fitz," she said, smiling. "Not least because I won my bet with Hunter – I said you'd go with Haggis, he said Braveheart." She did a little dance in her seat. "Twenty quid to meeee!" she sang.

Fitz looked a little deflated at being so predictable. "Braveheart was my second choice."

Coulson cleared his throat. "The dwarves, Fitz?"

"Oh, right…"A glint of the old Fitz shone through in the pride he showed in his achievements with the dwarves. "Ok, so we had a number of logistical concerns. Firstly, how can we protect you from the effects of your own powers?"

"For example," Simmons interrupted seamlessly, "What if you created a big enough seismic event that the ground gave way directly beneath you?"

"Exactly," nodded Fitz, and continued counting on his fingers. "Secondly, once you're away from  _The Haggis_ , how do we protect you from predators and harsh weather conditions?"

"And thirdly," Simmons continued as if it had been her talking all along. "What if you were to become catatonic or otherwise indisposed while far away from the camper?"

"Let's start calling it  _The Haggis_ , shall we? Get ourselves used to it?" Fitz suggested.

"Away from  _The Haggis_ ," she corrected herself. "Well, the modifications that Fitz has made to the dwarves are nothing short of remarkable."

"Thank you, Simmons," he replied, clearly extremely chuffed. He picked up the case from next to him on the floor and snapped it open. "Now, Skye, if you wouldn't mind getting out of your chair."

"Ok," Skye said warily, doing as he asked.

With the flick of a finger across his tablet, Fitz had the dwarves surround her. "Imagine you're out in the desert in the heat of the day."

Skye nodded, clearly not thrilled at the prospect.

"Voila," Fitz announced, and an almost imperceptible haze suddenly surrounded Skye.

"Hey!" Her voice was ever so slightly muffled inside the force-field the dwarves had created. "There's aircon in here!"

"Well," Jemma politely contradicted. "In actual fact the dwarves are employing a highly advanced and miniaturised evaporative cooling system."

"Whatever!" Skye replied. "This is awesome."

"There's also an extremely high UV protective factor," Fitz added. "Perhaps more suited to the  _pastier_  ones among us, but you'll be thankful for it out in the desert."

"And the dwarves will allow uninterrupted video and audio comms  _and_  all of the medical monitoring we want to achieve." Jemma beamed over at Fitz. "They really are  _incredibly_  advanced."

Fitz fondly held her gaze a moment before continuing. "This force-field around you acts like an advanced combat armour."

Jemma took over excitedly. "No predator can get at you in there without suffering a fatal electric shock, not even a mosquito!"

"And, as for what we were saying about the ground collapsing beneath you or in case you were to pass out?" Fitz swiped at his tablet, triumphantly.

"Ahh!" Skye cried as the dwarves travelled upwards, lifting her a foot or two from the carpet.

A swipe or two more and Fitz had Skye effortlessly circle Coulson's desk and return to where she started, then the dwarves gently lowered her to the floor.

"That was  _amazing_ , Fitz!" Skye cried, as the dwarves shuttled themselves neatly back into their case.

Coulson was clearly impressed. "Not even Tony Stark himself could have rigged up something like that at your age, Fitz," he enthused.

"Well," replied Fitz, now flushed with pride and embarrassment. "Stark doesn't work with Simmons, does he? She's the genius with all the ideas. I just tinkered with these little fellas until I could pull off what she'd described."

Jemma blushed quietly.

Coulson looked almost as if he were getting a little choked up. He allowed himself a rare moment of tenderness. "I couldn't trust you to just anyone, Skye," he croaked, seeking her eyes. "But you really will be in good hands with FitzSimmons."

Skye looked gratefully from Fitz to Simmons and then smiled back at Coulson. "The  _best_."


	10. Chapter 10

Dismissed from Coulson's office, Skye made straight for her bunk, Jemma for the lab and Fitz for the garage until he remembered the small matter of sleeping arrangements on  _The Flying Haggis_. He turned on his heel and sprinted after Simmons.

She was heading down the long corridor that ran parallel to the lab when he caught sight of her. "Simmons!" he called, and she turned and waited for him to catch up.

"Hi!" he puffed, taking a moment to catch his breath, his hands resting on his knees.

"Someone needs more fitness training," Simmons commented, laughing.

"Hey!" he replied in mock-offence. "I ran after you as fast as I could! It suddenly occurred to me that I didn't want to face Mack after the bedding conversation it sounds like you two had without getting the full story!"

"Fair enough. You're probably not that unfit." She looked him over appraisingly. "Besides, I suppose you  _do_  have a low body fat percentage."

"Err, thanks?" he replied, straightening up.

"And your face  _is_  nice and symmetrical."

"My face?" Fitz turned to look at his reflection in the glass that ran the length of the corridor. "I guess," he shrugged, shifting his glance to her reflection. "Though I think your face is nicer." He shook his head sharply. " _Anyway_ , tell me about this bed thing. Did you really tell Mack you, err… you wanted us to… umm… share the same bed?"

Jemma broke into a slightly maniacal laugh as she moved off again in the direction of the lab. "Oh, I was just having fun with him."

Fitz put a lid on his own relief/disappointment and gave her a disapproving look as he followed after her. "That's all well and good, Jemma, but poor Mack actually needs to get started on fitting out  _The Haggis_. He just wants your instructions."

"I gave them to him!" Jemma said, defensively, pushing open the heavy lab door and holding it for him.

Poor Fitz gazed at her in total bafflement as he walked past her into the lab. "I don't understand," he said flatly. "Mack says you were telling him to leave us with the one bed."

"That's right," she replied, laying her armful of equipment down on her workspace.

"Sooo, how is that just having fun with Mack?" Fitz demanded, leaning back against her desk, arms folded across his chest. "That sounds like you were actually being serious."

"Ohh. Well, I don't intend for us to actually  _sleep_  there," she laughed, dropping a few files neatly into her filing cabinet.

"You don't?" Fitz rubbed at his temples with both hands. "Where are you imagining we'll sleep then?" he cried. "It's not exactly a huge amount of living space!"

"Fitz," Jemma whispered earnestly. "Can you imagine the view of the stars we'll have from out in the Chilean desert?"

"Don't change the subject, Simmons!" Fitz was getting annoyed now. "I need to get back to the garage with some vaguely comprehensible instructions for Mack!"

Jemma gave him a look. "Fitz, when Skye's asleep in her chamber, the dwarves will be free, right?"

Fitz just nodded, exasperated that he was getting nowhere.

"So that's 10pm til 8am every night that  _we_  could have use of the dwarves."

"And why on earth would  _we_  have a use for the dwarves!?" Fitz cried. "Coulson would kill us if we just wandered off and left Skye alone and defenceless!"

Jemma pulled out a box from under her workspace. It was marked with the logo of an Australian camping company. Out of the box she pulled two rolls of khaki material. "We  _won't_  be leaving Skye alone," she said, unrolling one. "Have you ever seen a swag before?"

Fitz narrowed his eyes. "Isn't swag just another way of saying unmistakeable cool?"

She looked back at him in surprise.

"What?" he asked, defensively. "I read Urban Dictionary now and again. I'm just trying to make sense of my own baffling generation." He looked suddenly sad. "Trip had swag."

Simmons nodded, quiet for a moment. Then she continued to layout the roll of material. "Anyway, not the ephemeral attribute, I mean the physical object.  _This_  is a swag." And she unfolded the top layer of material, revealing a comfy looking mattress underneath. She scooted herself under the top layer, and lay down on the mattress, pulling the top layer back over her like a sheet. "Water-proof canvas," she said. "Perfect amount of room in here for a good sleeping bag."

Fitz sighed. "Jemma, I still don't understand. Are we just leaving the bed where it is coz your plan is for us to sleep on the floor?"

Jemma shook her head. "Not on the  _floor_ , Fitz." She paused meaningfully, placing her hands over the top layer of the swag and casting her eyes up towards the ceiling. "On the  _roof_!"

Suddenly it all made sense. Fitz crouched down next to Jemma, grinning. "That is  _brilliant_!"

"I know!" She repositioned herself in the swag to look eagerly into his face. "Can you imagine it? We get Skye into her chamber each night, knock her out with the organic compound, and then climb up onto the roof with the dwarves…"

"'Cause the solar panels will be out of action in the dark…" Fitz continued.

"Exactly," Jemma replied. "And then we unroll our swags, climb into our sleeping bags and sleep under the stars! In such a remote place we'll have one of the most amazing unrestricted views of the night sky imaginable!"

"And Bashful, Doc and the fellas will protect us from the weather, the temperature, predators and even mosquitoes!" Fitz was grinning like an idiot. "I'll install some magnification capabilities," he suddenly muttered, getting excited. "The dwarves can even guide us through the constellations using GPS. We might discover a new star!"

Jemma grinned back. "So, it's a good plan?"

"It's the best!" he enthused. Then his face fell. "But will it be ok with Coulson?"

Jemma looked a bit sheepish. "I wasn't  _exactly_  going to tell him."

Fitz gave her a smirk. "And that's why you've left Mack in such a flap."

She nodded. "Can you convince him that we agreed sharing the one bed was the best solution?"

Fitz sat on the floor next to Jemma, resting his chin on his fist. He remembered back to he and Mack's original bedding conversation. "It might be a bit of a challenge."

"You could tell him that we slept perfectly comfortably together in my single bunk last night."

Fitz's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. "Are you serious!?" he cried. "Isn't it bad enough that Skye caught us without me telling Mack too? We'd never hear the end of it!"

"I suppose," Jemma agreed.

"And it doesn't seem all that professional does it," Fitz added. "Planning to share a bed together while out on a remote field mission."

"No," she sighed. "I suppose it doesn't."

Fitz thought a moment. "The dwarves!" he grinned. "We won't tell them what we're really using them for, we can just say we'll use them to create a solid divider between us so it's as if the one bed becomes two single beds."

"It does save work for Mack and space in the camper," Jemma agreed. "Anyway, if we _really_  had some sort of repressed desire issues that prevented us from being able to get any rest if we  _did_  share that double bed…"

Fitz suddenly became very interested in a spot on the floor.

"…it's not as if we could get much in the way of decent distance between us inside  _The Haggis_  anyway!"

She was totally right. Fitz thought he could probably sell it to Mack without arousing too much suspicion.

Jemma beamed at him. "How great is this mission going to be!"


	11. Chapter 11

"Simmons?" Skye called through the scientist's bunk door. "Are you in there?"

After a pause, Skye heard a distinct, "Mmph."

"Is Fitz in there too?" Skye called a little louder.

The bunk door shot open with an impressive force and Jemma, still bleary eyed and pyjama-clad gave Skye a distinctly unimpressed look. She suddenly yelled, loud enough for the rest of the plane to hear, "Fitz? Why on earth would Fitz be in my bunk, Skye? Are you losing your mind?" And then yanked Skye inside and slammed the bunk door closed again.

Once safely closed in, Skye copped the full force of Jemma Simmons' early morning pre-tea glare.

"Is it really necessary, Skye, to imply that you'd expect to find Fitz in my bunk?" she inquired archly.

"Sheesh! Settle down, Simmons," Skye shot back. "I only asked because last time I knocked, he  _was_  here."

Jemma calmed down. "Alright," she replied. "Sorry, it's just that I wouldn't want anyone to think that anything untoward was going on in here."

"It's ok," Skye shrugged. "But as far as I'm concerned, you guys could be hanging out all night all the time. It wouldn't bother me."

"We  _did_  used to do it a lot more," Simmons admitted. "But that was before… you know, before…"

"Before Ward?" Skye asked bluntly.

"Mmm," she agreed absentmindedly. "We were just friends then."

"Simmons?" Skye stared at her intently. "Is there anything I'm missing here? Aren't you still  _just friends_?"

Jemma gave a high-pitched laugh. "Of  _course_  we are, Skye!" she cried, with almost enough conviction to convince herself. "I just meant, things were different after…"

"It's ok," Skye encouraged. "We can say his name. Remember Voldemort?"

Jemma nodded. "Ward," she whispered menacingly. "Sorry, Skye. I haven't even asked you how you're going with that whole thing. Did you want to talk about it?"

"Did  _you_?" Skye asked. "I doubt if any of us want to even be reminded that the guy exists! Anyway, let's wait til I'm on my own in the middle of a desert with a set of dwarf comms and the free range to blow the lid off the Richter Scale, shall we?" Skye grimaced. "Then I can tell you  _all_  about it."

Jemma managed a sad laugh.

"Anyway, doesn't look like you'll have to wait too long for that little chat. Mack said  _The Haggis_  is almost ready to go."

"Yes, I think Coulson said The Bus is scheduled to touch down in Chile on Wednesday."

"Look, Simmons," Skye said, looking earnestly at her friend. "I just wanted to say, to you and to Fitz, that I'm really grateful for all of this hard work you've been doing for me." She reached over and grabbed Jemma's hand. "I'm pretty terrified about all this you know, but Coulson insists we need to know what we're dealing with."

Jemma nodded sympathetically, placing her hand on top of Skye's. "I think he's probably right."

"I know," she sighed. "But it helps a lot to know that I'll have you and Fitz looking after me. Thank you."

"Of course, Skye," she replied. "Fitz and I would do anything for you."

"Even cook, I hear!" Skye laughed, suddenly eager to lighten the mood. "Is Fitz really in charge of catering?"

Jemma grinned. "He's an excellent cook, you know, if sometimes a bit particular about how things should be done."

"Fitz? Particular?" Skye feigned incredulity. "Surely not."

"Prepare yourself," Jemma warned good-humouredly. "He'll no doubt engage you as his kitchen hand now and again, and woe betide you if you don't chop the carrots to his unique specifications!"

"Now you've got me worried!" Skye giggled. "Will he be wearing some sort of special apron?"

Jemma smirked. "Only if he can decide which one to take out of his highly-prized collection of Scottish-themed numbers."

"I dread to think!" Skye replied. "And will you two be ok?" she asked gently. "You know, when I'm out of action? It's a long time to spend one-on-one if things are awkward between you."

Jemma paused thoughtfully. "You know, a month or two ago, I might have been petrified of all that time alone with Fitz." She smiled to herself. "But now, I'm quite looking forward to it. He  _is_  my oldest and dearest friend in the world, you know."

Skye smiled back. "And I for one am thankful. You guys make quite a team."

There was another knock at the door, and on gaining Jemma's permission, the door slid open to reveal Fitz holding a cup of tea.

"Aww, look, Simmons!" Jemma cried. "Fitz is bringing you a cup of tea in bed!"

Fitz's face flushed. "Sorry. Bad time?"

" _Great_  time," Skye contradicted him, taking the tea out of his hands and handing it to Jemma. "Has he been doing this every morning?" she asked.

Jemma nodded, smiling warmly up at Fitz. "Every morning since we re-established our tea habit." She drank deeply from the teacup and sighed contentedly. "Fitz's tea is what gets me out of bed in the morning, just like in the old days back at Sci-Tech."

"You're a good man, Fitz," Skye declared. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

"A-alright," Fitz stammered, still distinctly pink. "I won't. Thank you, Skye."

"Skye was just here to thank us for the work we've been doing to prepare for this mission," Jemma explained.

"Really?" Fitz asked. "That's nice. But it's nothing, honestly."

"We're just doing our job," Jemma added.

"And we really enjoy our work," Fitz concluded, while Jemma nodded in agreement.

"You've got that split-sentence thing going again, you realise?" Skye pointed out. "It's  _adorable_. You two are going to provide my light relief for the next month."

Fitz looked unimpressed. "Along with a few other key services."

"She knows, Fitz," Jemma reminded him. "That's why she's here thanking us."

"Right," he managed a slight smile.

Jemma drained her teacup and clambered out of bed. "I should probably get ready to face the day," she yawned, standing on her tiptoes and stretching her arms as far as she could reach.

"Me too," said Skye, "but before I go, bring it in here." And she threw an arm around Simmons and an arm around Fitz and yanked them both into a fierce embrace. As prickly as he had been to find Skye in the way of his early morning moment with Jemma, Fitz immediately softened and warmly returned Skye's hug, as did Simmons.

"Well," Skye reflected, releasing them. "I guess if I  _have_  to be stuck with some chemical-sleep-enforcing scientific researchers who are going to take me to the brink of my emotional and physical limits, I'm glad it's gonna be you guys."


	12. Chapter 12

It was as if, having allowed a tiny drop of tenderness to leak out in the presence of FitzSimmons the previous day, Coulson was powerless against the floodgates of fatherly tenderness he felt towards Skye as it came time to say goodbye. The two of them wandered around The Bus, arm in arm in the early dawn, the sun just beginning to spread a pale pink blush across the navy blue horizon. Meanwhile, FitzSimmons and Mack ran their final extensive tests of vehicles and equipment, rushing to get through their checklists before they felt the force of the desert sun.

Once assured that his odd little buddy would be safe, Mack extended his enormous paw towards Fitz who ignored it and grasped his huge friend in a hug. His fingers couldn't quite reach one another around the man's expansive back.

"Take care out here, won't you Turbo," Mack urged him, not without a hint of tenderness of his own. "Do you things are gonna be ok with…?" He jerked his head in Jemma's direction.

Fitz grinned. "It's a bit late now if they're not!"

Mack almost shuddered. "She's formidable, man. Don't cross her!"

"I wouldn't dare," Fitz agreed, shaking his head emphatically.

After handshakes and hugs from Hunter and Bobby and even a brief embrace for Skye from May, Skye and FitzSimmons found themselves alone on the sand, watching The Bus disappear behind its reflective cloaking in the slowly lightening sky.

"Right," said Skye, turning to her friends. "I'm ready to do some damage!"

Jemma blinked at her a few times then turned back to her work. "That's very…err… proactive of you, Skye."

"Ever since you asked me how I was feeling about Ward, I realised this was exactly what I needed to do," she explained, limbering up. "Wire me up, or whatever you have to do, zoom me out there and let me get some of this crap off my chest already!"

"Patience is a virtue," Jemma replied not looking up from her tablet, "And I'm not quite done with my final adjustments."

"Besides," interjected Fitz. "I'm baking scones for elevenses."

"Elevenses!?" Skye crowed. "Have I just stepped onto the set of  _The Hobbit_? Did I miss second breakfast!?"

Fitz looked slightly put out. "I'll have you know, Skye, that the term  _elevenses_  is fairly commonly employed on the British Isles."

Skye looked incredulously at Jemma for verification, who nodded her agreement as she tinkered with one of the dwarves. Skye held up her watch. "Even at seven am?"

"We've been up preparing since 0400 hours, Skye!" Fitz retorted defensively. "Even elevenses can be relative."

"And you're never not hungry," Skye allowed.

"Precisely," he nodded, holding open the door of  _The Haggis_. "Coming?"

"I suppose venting about Ward won't be any less cathartic on a full stomach," she mused, taking the three metal steps in one stride.

" _Now_ you're talking," Fitz agreed encouragingly.

Skye spun on her heel, taking in the confines of their home for the next month now that it really was all they had. Her isolation chamber loomed large at one end of the camper. She tried not to look at it too closely lest claustrophobia set in.

Simmons was hunched over her tablet in the centre of the booth-style seats that surrounded three sides of the little table. Above her, across from the table, was a row of flush white cupboard doors, onto which a screen could be projected. It would be from here that they'd hold conference with the outside world, and, if the mood took them, watch movies or play video games. Skye was kind of excited about the sleepover-style elements of the mission, even if she did have to get locked away at ten every night instead of inciting midnight feasts and spin the bottle like usual.

Fitz bustled around the kitchen, which seemed to take up more than a quarter of the camper's space. His design input was becoming clear. He was wearing a splendid tartan trimmed apron with a large picture of a pair of horned black highland cows peeking over a stone wall. Momentarily, he placed a pot of jam, a bowl of thick hand-whipped cream, his teapot and a milk jug on the little table. Jemma laid down her tablet and beamed at him as he placed her tea cup in front of her and filled it for her. Because his set only had two matching cups, Fitz had scrounged a spare mug from the mess for Skye. It was quite large and bore the image of a disturbingly grumpy looking cat.

Skye held the steaming mug up to her face. "Did you choose this one because of the striking resemblance?" she laughed.

Fitz shrugged. "I didn't really look at it. I just needed a mug."

"Such attention to detail," she remarked. "I'm touched."

"Shut up and eat," he muttered, laying a package wrapped in a tartan tea towel in the centre of the table.

"So is this what you Brits call Devonshire Tea?" Skye asked, unearthing a warm scone from inside the tea towel and slathering the crumbly item with jam and cream.

"Devon  _has_  given us some good things," Jemma sighed. "Fitz, these are perfect!"

Fitz looked very pleased with himself but didn't respond, two thirds of a particularly well-topped scone in his mouth.

"Well," Skye announced, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Fitz has just popped my Devonshire Tea cherry and I'm coming back for more."

The more demure Fitz didn't quite know where to look.

"How have you gotten this far through life without a scone, Skye?" Jemma asked.

"Now that I've tasted one, I don't even know!" Skye laughed, placing two more on her plate and liberally applying jam and cream. "Great jam by the way, Fitz. When we get back you'll have to tell me where I can buy some."

"Fitz makes his own preserves," Jemma explained.

Skye looked at Fitz in shock. "You make jam!?"

"Preserves," Fitz murmured through a mouthful of scone. "Raspberry, blackberry and the odd marmalade."

Skye turned to Simmons. "Is there anything this man can't do? What a catch!"

Fitz inhaled some crumbs and had a little coughing fit while Simmons gave her a thin smile and looked away to punch a few last digits into her tablet.

"Right!" Simmons declared in an extremely business-like manner. "I think we're ready to try out these dwarves, don't you Fitz?"

His coughing fit just subsiding, Fitz managed a red-faced nod.


	13. Chapter 13

As they kitted Skye out for her first venture into the desert, she announced her mischievous plan. "So, you guys have to try and help me plumb the depths of my emotional pain, right?" she chattered amiably. "Well, I've got the perfect plan that lets me get a little of my own back."

"Mmm?" replied Simmons absent-mindedly as she gave her full attention to the machinery in front of her.

"We're gonna play  _Truth_ ," Skye announced triumphantly.

"How does that work?" Fitz asked, looking up from his task, screwdriver in hand.

"Well, you're going to ask me all these probing questions and I have to answer honestly, right?"

"Right."

"But if we're playing  _Truth_ , it means I get to ask you questions back."

Fitz could imagine where Skye was going. "Are you ok with this, Simmons?"

She was gnawing on the end of her stylus, deep in concentration. She nodded blankly. "Sure."

"See?" Skye nodded, triumphantly. "It's gonna be great."

"Umm, Simmons?" Fitz asked again, placing his hand on her arm. "Are you  _sure_  about this?"

She finally looked up. "Sure about what?"

"It's ok," Skye sang. "You already agreed."

"Agreed to what?" Simmons asked warily.

"We're playing  _Truth_  while I'm out there today. You get to ask a question of me, and I have to tell the whole truth, and then I get to ask a question of you."

Jemma's eyes narrowed. "And what sort of questions were you planning on asking, Skye?"

Skye grinned cheekily. "We'll, you'll be asking me all about my love life, so I thought I'd ask you two about yours."

Jemma folded her arms across her chest. "I can save you some time, Skye," she said flatly. "I've got nothing to tell. Neither does Fitz. Do you, Fitz?"

Fitz looked like a deer caught in the headlights. "Nope," he shook his head a little too vigorously. "Nothing from me."

Skye raised her eyebrows knowingly, glancing from one to the other. "Nothing?" she asked. "Sometimes it's good to get things out in the open."

Jemma glared at her. "Can I have a word, Skye?"

"Sure."

"Outside."

"Hang on," Fitz interrupted, consulting the tablet mounted on the wall. "It's already 126 degrees out there. If you really need to talk privately, I can just block my ears and hum."

Jemma looked at him apologetically. "Sorry, Fitz. Would you mind?"

Fitz shrugged, then dutifully plonked himself at the table, blocked his ears and started humming a very recognisable  _Scotland the Brave_.

Jemma rounded on Skye, turning her back to Fitz. "What on earth do you think you're playing at?"

Skye feigned wide-eyed innocence. "Playing at? Me?"

"You know things are still a little bit precarious between Fitz and I. Why would you interfere with that?"

Skye folded her arms across her chest. "You say things are precarious. I say the two of you are in love!"

Fitz, who had been attempting some amateur lip-reading, suddenly started humming all the louder, wishing he could see Jemma's mouth moving and not just her vigorous hand-gestures.

"Not that I'm admitting to anything, but so what if we are!" Jemma fumed. "What business is it of yours!?"

"Well," Skye shrugged. "I'm in love with the idea of the two of you together. And  _my_  love life is about as much a wasteland as what's out there and while I'm stuck out in it with you, I'm going to take every opportunity to give you a little prod."

Jemma dropped her head into her hands. "This is going to be a  _nightmare_."

"Or the happiest month of your life?" Skye offered.

Simmons looked at her friend pleadingly. "Can't you have a little bit of compassion? Please?"

Skye pursed her lips, thinking it over.

"Please?"

"I'll give you three weeks grace."

"Three weeks grace? What does that mean?" Simmons demanded.

"It means I'll lay off for the first three weeks."

"And then what?"

Skye grinned. "And then, in our last week out here, I'm going to town."

Jemma dropped her head into her hands again. "Is there  _anything_  I can do to make you change your mind?"

"You could occasionally break the rules about my night time imprisonment?"

"Skye!" Jemma wailed. "Coulson was  _extremely_  specific about that. It's for your safety!"

"You and your rules. Well then," Skye shrugged. "I guess you're just going to have to put up with my match-making!"

"You are evil," Jemma sighed.

"That's still up for debate, I think. Isn't that why we're out here gathering all my data?"

Simmons shook her head in infuriation. "Alright, give me a start date then."

"A start date?"

"Give me specifics – time and date – that you'll start  _going to town_  as you put it. Just so I'm prepared."

Skye glanced at her high-tech S.H.I.E.L.D.-issue watch. "From the moment I wake up, Monday, 20th March."

"Right," nodded Jemma, internally resolving that however it was that she felt about Fitz, she'd have to work it out and tell him before then.


	14. Chapter 14

"Skye, if you ask if we're ready yet one more time, I swear I will do you a serious injury," Fitz muttered through clenched teeth, trying not to hold his screwdriver like a weapon.

Jemma nodded, emphatically. "And after that, I'll refuse to treat you."

"Haven't you sworn some kind of oath?" Skye asked, swinging back and forth on her stool like a petulant child.

"Actually, no. That would be your garden variety MD. I happen to be a PhD."

"Times two," Fitz added.

Inside the cool of the camper, tensions were running almost as high as the temperature outside. It was close to three in the afternoon by the time the dwarves were fully charged, tested and ready to take Skye out for the first run of their mission. As much affection and sympathy as they felt for the fledgling agent, Jemma and Fitz had gotten to the point where they couldn't wait to be rid of her, at least until dinner time, for which Fitz was planning an authentic British baked dinner, complete with Yorkshire pudding and real gravy.

"Alright!" Fitz crowed, stepping back from the dwarf case, his hands held triumphantly aloft. "Let's get her out of here!"

Skye looked unimpressed. "You still have to talk to me, remember? I have stuff to get off my chest."

Jemma slumped on her stool. "Oh, yes. Ward. Wonderful."

Skye waggled her eyebrows. "Oh, don't worry. I'll keep it interesting."

Simmons shook her head. "That's what I'm afraid of."

Half an hour later, the scientists stood in the blistering heat, each shading their eyes with a forearm as they watched the dwarves shuttle Skye at an impressive pace out into the heart of the desert.

"Let's get back inside," Jemma urged. "I'm going to melt."

Fitz nodded. "And I have Yorkshire pud batter to mix."

Jemma sighed. "I suppose we should turn up the comms?"

Fitz looked at her pleadingly. "Just three minutes of silence first?"

"I suppose three minutes won't kill her."

By the time they turned on the comms, Skye was actually screeching. "Where on earth have you guys been!? I've been freaking out all alone out here!"

"Sorry, Skye," Jemma replied, rolling her eyes at Fitz. "Just took us a moment to get everything up and running."

"Ok, whatever," Skye's voice crackled over the comms. "By the way, this is probably the most amazing experience I've ever had. You two are total geniuses."

Jemma and Fitz warmed back up to their friend immediately.

"How's the temperature in there, Skye?" Fitz asked. "Not too hot?"

"No!" sounded her disembodied voice. "I'm cool as a cucumber. And have you guys somehow got some kind of tinting going on? It's not nearly as glary as I expected. I can take or leave my shades. Apart from the cool factor that they obviously impart."

"Obviously," repeated Fitz, laying his batter aside and taking a vegetable peeler to the nearest potato. "Crucial to look cool on your own in the middle of the desert."

"You know me, Fitz," Skye's voice agreed. "So, are you guys ready for me to start off-loading?"

Jemma raised her eyebrows at Fitz over the edge of her tablet on which she was monitoring Skye's general health and brain function as well as measuring any seismic readings. "Ready as we'll ever be."

"Coz first I have to start with how things  _would have gone_  between us if he hadn't turned out to be an evil, lying, son of a…"

"Go on then," Fitz intoned, already slightly bored. "Would you have taken him to prom?" he asked in the American accent that Skye loved so much.

"Ha! Well, in the absence of S.H.I.E.L.D. related prom opportunities, I'm sure I would have found some way to squeeze him into a tux." She left a pregnant pause. "If only to squeeze him out of it again."

Jemma caught Fitz's eye. "This is what I was afraid of," she mouthed.

"Did you guys even know," Skye continued, "That when we came to the Hub for Hydra's coming out party, Ward and I had our first kiss in a store cupboard?"

"Do go on, Skye," Jemma called. "Don't wait for us to prompt you."

"Well, it was totally hot. Oh my, had that man not turned out to be evil, there would have undoubtedly come a time when I would have thrown him across that holotable and…"

The next hour or so were excruciating for the scientists. Never had more care gone into the preparation of root vegetables as Skye enumerated in explicit detail the times and ways that she had fantasised about having her way with pre-betrayal Ward. Their initial shock at her sacrilegious intentions for their holotable was replaced by a red-faced silence as they pretended not to hear the catalogue of imaginary exploits Skye described and avoided even glancing in the general direction of the other.

At last she got to the point, after some detailed description of kisses that did actually take place, of reliving her discovery of Ward's treachery. In the camper, blood returned to flowing a little bit more normally, the intense stimulation/mortification replaced by their still-fresh feelings of anger and betrayal.

Jemma was transfixed by the activity of Skye's monitors shown on her tablet. "Fitz! Come and have a look at this!" she whispered urgently, briefly muting their end of the comms.

As Skye's description of Ward's betrayal became more emotional, the seismic activity around her seemed to develop simultaneously. Jemma switched on visuals. As Skye talked, she was punctuating her narrative with dramatic hand-gestures, almost like those you'd expect to see from a pantomime wizard. Each jolt of her arm made an intense impact and judging from what she could see of Skye's face, her friend was becoming more and more aware of just the edges of what she was capable of. By the time Skye began talking about hearing that Ward had dropped the two of them out of the plane, Fitz was forcefully wielding a somewhat disproportionate kitchen machete over the carrots, Jemma was trying to control her breathing and Skye was creating actual tremors that she could see shimmering across the desert sand beneath her. Her movements and the reaction of the earth continued to become more and more concentrated as she described her kidnapping and Ward taking her to meet her father. Jemma and Fitz, now both absorbed in what they were seeing on the screen above them, saw actual tiny fissures in the sand branching out from Skye's location.

She told them with some satisfaction about firing the bullets into Ward's abdomen, the fissures beneath her growing into crevasses. Her voice broke as she told them about how she had been forced to watch Cal beat Coulson into a bloody pulp, feeling powerless to stop him. She now openly wept, remembering cradling Coulson's bloody head in her hands and feeling that she had been responsible for the almost-death of the only real father-figure she knew.

Suddenly, tears streaming down her face, the memory of Coulson's broken face before her, Skye almost involuntarily threw both arms out to her sides. Jemma's instruments seemed to blow up on the tablet before her as an unparalleled seismic event occurred with Skye at the epicentre.

"Fitz!" Jemma cried. "Get her out of there!"

With the simple swipe of a carrot-stained finger across his tablet, the dwarves swept Skye high above the earth that was giving way beneath her and shot her back towards the camper.

Jemma earnestly watched Skye's vitals. She was certainly alive. Her eyes flicked to the screen above. Skye lay slumped, unconscious in the safety net created by the dwarves, winging her back towards the safety of  _The Haggis_. It looked as though the same thing had transpired as under the city in San Juan. Skye had fallen into a coma.


	15. Chapter 15

It had taken quite a bit of time for the two of them and the dwarves to carefully manoeuvre the unconscious Skye safely into her chamber and for Jemma to be satisfied that she had done all she could for her comfort and well-being.

"How long did it take her to come out of the coma after San Juan?" Fitz asked, handing Jemma her stethoscope as she leaned over Skye.

"Five days," Jemma sighed.

"That's right. That was awful, wasn't it?"

Jemma gave him a pointed stare. "I've seen worse."

Fitz looked back at her apologetically.

Jemma slumped back onto the stool she'd been kneeling on to reach into Skye. "Did I ever get to tell you about that?"

Fitz shook his head.

"We might find ourselves with some time in the next few days. Remind me."

Fitz thought he might not. "Well, dinner's almost ready. You hungry?"

Jemma pondered for a moment. "Actually, I'm starving."

Fitz beamed. "I've got no shortage of food."

She made herself pay attention to the rich aromas wafting from the oven. "It smells wonderful. Go nicely with a bottle of red, don't you think?"

Fitz shoulders slumped. "I didn't think of that."

She grinned. "I did." And she stood up to seal Skye's chamber, performing a last check to ensure that all her monitoring instruments were functioning as they should, before reaching into the locker she had been assigned and pulling out a green corked bottle.

"Shall I open this and leave it to breathe while we report to Coulson?" she asked.

"Sounds perfect," said Fitz, taking it from her hands, expertly uncorking it and placing it right out of sight of the webcam.

Jemma punched a few digits into her tablet and within moments Coulson and May were crackling onto the screen above them.

"Skye?" Coulson asked, noting that only two of his agents looked back at him.

"Sir, she has some seriously impressive powers," Simmons began, typing into her tablet again. "I'm sending the data through now."

Coulson glanced down at his own tablet and gave a low whistle. "Wow."

"Yes, sir," Jemma nodded.

"But how is she? Can I see her?" he asked, not without a hint of urgency.

After she was sure that Fitz had moved the wine bottle right out of sight, Jemma turned the webcam so that Coulson and May could see her lying prone in her chamber.

"All her vitals are absolutely fine," Simmons assured him. "I'm checking her respiration every hour by sight and her body is just reacting as if in a deep sleep. She'll be absolutely fine."

"Like San Juan?" Coulson asked.

"Just like San Juan," Jemma nodded reassuringly.

"You'll take care of her, won't you?"

Jemma smiled. "Of course, sir. And we'll get her to report to you herself as soon as she's awake."

Coulson nodded, satisfied. "You do that."

"But report if there's any change," May interjected, showing uncharacteristic concern.

"We certainly will," Jemma assured them.

"Everything ok with you, Fitz?" Coulson enquired. "Dwarves behaving?"

"Yes, sir," Fitz nodded. "And let me assure you again that Simmons is giving Skye the best possible care."

Simmons turned to beam at him as Coulson jerked his head in agreement. "I know, Fitz. I shouldn't even need to ask."

After signing off, Fitz and Jemma looked at one another in the quiet camper.

"Sooo," Fitz began uncertainly. "Just us, then."

Jemma nodded awkwardly. "Just us."


	16. Chapter 16

"No, I did not say that," Fitz cried defiantly. "I would never in a million years allow for the possibility that Iron Man could be outright beaten by Thor in any type of contest you could name! As you and I both know, and have seen evidence of, Tony Stark is constantly improving his craft!"

"And this is precisely the tension between our disciplines," Jemma retorted. "Your stubborn belief in the endless ingenuity of human engineers, mechanics and scientists like yourself, as opposed to my increasingly compelling insights into human, alien and what can only be described as inhuman DNA and biology!"

It had only taken a few glasses of wine and the two of them were good-naturedly bickering as if they'd never even left the Academy. The remains of a British feast still lay on the table, Skye slumbered gently in her chamber and the furious argument, which each of them was passionately enjoying, swung into its second hour.

"So are you seriously trying to convince me that you think Stark and his army of empty costumes could stand a chance against the full force of an alien army?"

"Excuse me? Battle of New York, anyone?"

"Yes, Fitz," Jemma sighed exasperatedly, "But as we both know, that was Stark fighting alongside Thor and Banner and Rogers who function just as well for my argument as they do for yours."

"Well, let's hope he doesn't ever have to, but I think, at a pinch, Stark could take them on his own," Fitz declared.

Jemma rolled her eyes and looked out the window. Suddenly she reached across the table and grabbed Fitz' arm. "Fitz! It's getting dark!"

She looked back into his eyes with what Fitz tried desperately not to mistake for a come hither expression. Her next question didn't make it any easier.

"Time for bed?" she asked somewhat suggestively.

She's only sounding suggestive because she means not-going-to-sleep-because-we're-looking-at-stars NOT not-going-to-sleep-because-of-any-other-reasons, Fitz reminded himself, jumping up and vigorously scrubbing at the roasting pan in the sink, attempting to quash the memories of Skye's stimulating narrative earlier that afternoon. Stars, stars, stars. Balls of burning gas.

Jemma had disappeared into the compact bathroom and then reappeared in what Fitz had well and truly forgotten remained amongst her pyjama collection. The striped flannel bottoms weren't particularly noteworthy but it seemed she was still wearing the Proclaimers t-shirt she'd stolen off him late one winter's night when they'd gotten soaked on their way back to his room at Sci-Tech. As she pottered around him dragging the swags and sleeping bags out of the storage lockers and into the middle of the campervan floor, Fitz smiled to himself, remembering how the heavens had opened on them after they left the lab near midnight that night and how they'd sprinted through the icy wind for the cover of the closest dorm, which happened to be his. Once inside, they'd both begun shedding their freezing wet layers of clothing, desperately trying to get warm, huddled together next to his tiny radiator. He'd wrapped her in his capacious tartan dressing gown and thrown his duvet around his own bare shoulders stamping his feet and blowing on his icy hands while they waited impatiently for the kettle to boil. Once they'd stopped their teeth chattering with a few cups of tea, each with a generous dash of Scotch, Fitz had convinced her not to brave the wild weather again. So Jemma had raided his wardrobe and donned his most favourite t-shirt, so soft with wear and washing that the Proclaimers were barely recognisable as themselves anymore. That was probably the first of many nights the two of them had spent snuggled up in the one bed together – for warmth or companionship or because of homesickness or something really good (or really bad) on TV. They hadn't needed all that much of an excuse. And back then he hadn't thought to particularly appreciate the cosiness of those nights together because they just seemed to him to be a natural perk of having a best friend who was a girl. At the time, he had no other friendships to compare it with.

Jemma was taking up the now only half-full bottle of wine and swinging open the camper door. A chilly wind blew in. She shivered. "Goodness, it changes quickly out here, doesn't it!?" She stepped onto the top stair of The Haggis and reached for the ladder to the roof. "Send up the dwarves, will you Fitz? Just leave Bashful to keep an eye on Skye. And once I'm up there you can pass the swags and the sleeping bags and the wine glasses up to me."

"Aye Aye," Fitz replied, sticking his head out the door to watch her scamper agilely up the ladder. He ducked back in to release the dwarves from their case and to grab an armful of bedding to pass up to Simmons. Sticking his head out again he could just see her, standing on the roof, tablet in hand, expertly programming the dwarves for the evening.

"Ready for these?" he asked, and she immediately kneeled down to reach for the swags, her dark hair falling beautifully across her face.

"Fitz?"

He realised he was just gazing up at her, holding the bedding out of her reach. He shook his head. "Sorry!"

She looked concerned. "It has been a pretty long day. Are you sure you're up for star gazing tonight?"

He nodded vigorously. "I've been looking forward to this ever since you suggested it!"

"Me too." She smiled, reaching out for the bedding once more. "Now, fetch me those wine glasses."


	17. Chapter 17

"Have we got everything?" Fitz had called, his head appearing and then the rest of him as he clambered onto the roof of  _The Haggis_.

"Swags, sleeping bags, wine, cosmos," Jemma checked off on her fingers. "Think we're set."

He grinned, not failing to notice that Jemma had laid their swags extremely close to one another. She handed him his glass, and he sat facing her cross-legged on his swag, imitating her posture.

"Do you remember some of those dummies at the academy?" Fitz chuckled, watching the stars rising. "I mean, once you understand how the earth's curvature makes the stars shift as you travel, determining the earth's circumference is a piece of cake. All you have to do is go directly towards a one of the poles for a known distance, and measure the angular shift of stars near the meridian. Since the North Star is always close to the meridian it's easily your most convenient reference star."

"You're like a textbook with arms!" Jemma laughed. "Anyway, it's all very well us knowing the theory, Fitz. We still weren't meant to be much use in the field, as evidenced by us never actually managing to pass combat training."

Fitz snorted. "As if we haven't ended up seeing far more combat than any of those mouth-breathers that  _did_  pass! You and I have both proved ourselves in the field, time and again."

"I suppose you're right," Jemma shrugged. "Perhaps we could see if they'll pass us retrospectively. I bet Coulson would vouch for us."

Fitz cocked his head to one side. "Do you even  _want_  to be a field agent?"

"No!" Jemma retorted. "But I hate that I failed an exam! It still plagues me. Until that day I had never experienced that particular brand of mortification."

"Me neither," Fitz replied sympathetically. "Oh, the shame."

"Precisely. Anyway," she went on, "What I  _want_  is to be allowed to stay in a nice safe lab with you! But I haven't had all that much luck with that, have I?"

"Well, you have me," Fitz offered. "Paltry consolation though that is."

Jemma swiped at him half-heartedly. "Having you back is no paltry consolation. But you did make me beg, remember?"

He gave her a sheepish smile. "I'm glad you begged."

She beamed back at him. "I'm glad you caved."

"Look, Simmons! A good-sized meteoroid being vaporised by the earth's atmosphere!"

She turned to look. "Have you ever used the term "shooting star" in your life?"

"I did until I was six," he admitted shame-facedly, "But when I got to school the day after seeing a particularly impressive one and looked it up in the library, I was horrified to see my error."

"Never again?"

"Never."

"As errors go, I quite like the term "shooting star"," Jemma admitted.

"But it's a raging misnomer!" Fitz countered, appalled. "Come on, Simmons, they're not even stars!"

"It's sort of a romantic misnomer, don't you think?"

Fitz's mouth clamped shut. If anyone was going to be pushing the topic of romance at this juncture, it certainly wasn't going to be him.

She took his silence as disapproval. "It's not as though I'm going to start using "quantum leap" to describe big changes or anything, Fitz," she said in her defence. "I remember lying on the lawn with my parents one night when I was little. I was very impatiently watching a meteor  _shower_ , another misnomer as I was disappointed to learn, and Mum called them shooting stars. I know it's incorrect, but I just like it. It's poetic."

"But poetry can be the realm of the flaming ignoramus – remember Edgar Allen Poe?" retorted Fitz.

_"Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings,_   
_Conquer all mysteries by rule and line,_   
_Empty the haunted air, and gnomèd mine—_   
_Unweave a rainbow…"_

Jemma looked back at him, eyebrows raised. "Fitz!" she cried. "I didn't know you could recite poetry!"

Fitz shrugged. "I have a photographic memory."

"I know  _that_ ," she said. "But I never thought, even after all this time, that you'd have turned it towards poetry! What else have you got stored away in there?"

Fitz grinned, at her and turning on his best Scottish brogue, launched into a passionate rendition of  _Address to a Haggis_.

_"Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,_   
_Great chieftain o the puddin'-race!_   
_Aboon them a' ye tak your place,_   
_Painch, tripe, or thairm:_   
_Weel are ye worthy o' a grace_   
_As lang's my arm."_

"Alright, alright," Jemma laughed. "That's quite enough Robbie Burns for one evening!"

"I'm nowhere near the good part," Fitz complained. "And after all, we are sitting on the roof of  _The Flying Haggis_!"

"Fitz," Jemma leaned forward. "What's the most romantic poem you know?"

_Uh-oh_ , thought Fitz.  _Romance again._  "Romance?" he snorted, his face screwed up in mock-disgust.

"Come on, Fitz," she urged. "You must have some stored away in there!"

"Are you sure you don't want anymore Robbie Burns? Because I know  _A Red, Red Rose_!"

"Of course you do," Jemma said, laughing as she lay back and shuffled herself into her sleeping bag.

Fitz followed her example, after taking both their empty wine glasses and placing them well out of reach.

"Oh, go on, Fitz," she whispered, nudging him through her sleeping bag. "Just one poem?"

It didn't seem quite such a big deal now that they lay side-by-side instead of facing one another. Something about the luminosity above made him bold and the right poem seemed to swim into his head.

_"Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art–_   
_Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night_   
_And watching, with eternal lids apart,_   
_Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,_   
_The moving waters at their priestlike task_   
_Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,_   
_Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask_   
_Of snow upon the mountains and the moors–_   
_No–yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,_   
_Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,_   
_To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,_   
_Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,_   
_Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,_   
_And so live ever–or else swoon to death."_

"Oh, lovely," she breathed after a long silence when the words seem to hang in the air above them. "Keats, right?"

He nodded.

"I memorised a poem last year," she murmured. "Emily Dickinson."

"Let's hear it then."

"No, I can't recite it as well as you can."

"Oh, go on, Simmons."

"Some other time, maybe."

Fitz nodded and they were silent for a while, their eyes on the heavens.

"Do you ever regret not pursuing Astronomy?" Jemma asked eventually, turning her face to look at him.

He shook his head.

"How many scholarships were you offered?"

He shrugged. "If I'd taken any of them, I'd never have ended up at the Academy."

She quietly took in that alternate universe. The Academy without Fitz. "I would have been impossibly lonely."

"Nah, you would have been the life of the party."

She raised one eyebrow. "Aren't I too much of an odd bird for that?"

He coughed. "Donnie wasn't supposed to repeat that."

"Honestly, Fitz. I never would have stuck it out if it weren't for you."

"I don't believe that for a second," he replied. "You probably would have been the next Victoria Hand had I not got in your way and held you back."

"I  _seriously_  doubt it." She laughed. "And how would  _you_  have got on at the Academy without  _me_?"

"I don't even want to think about it. I would have been even more miserable than I already was when I first arrived, and I wouldn't even have had my project to distract me."

"And what project was that?"

"You know. I was directing all of my mental energy towards thinking up something smart enough to say to impress you."

Jemma raised her eyebrows. " _All_  your mental energy?" she asked. "So what was it you were using to thrash the rest of us in  _every single exam_?"

"Now, now, Simmons. No false modesty. You know I never thrashed you in any one of our exams."

"Well," she shrugged. "You thrashed everyone else."

"Small consolation, that. When you were the only one providing any competition."


	18. Chapter 18

Fitz was such a quiet sleeper that when Jemma suddenly woke in the star-lit dark, well before dawn, she had to reassure herself of his presence by reaching out for him. He stirred under her touch but didn't wake.

She lifted her sights to the skies above, staggered afresh by the canopy of lights overhead, and the knowledge that the beauty came from distant burning of past millennias.

Unbidden, the Dickenson poem came rushing back to her.

_Wild nights! Wild nights!_   
_Were I with thee,_   
_Wild nights should be_   
_Our luxury!_

_Futile the winds_   
_To a heart in port,_   
_Done with the compass,_   
_Done with the chart._

_Rowing in Eden!_   
_Ah! the sea!_   
_Might I but moor_   
_To-night in thee!_

It hadn't really been the performance standard Fitz set that had put her off reciting it to him earlier. Rather, it had been the fact that her love for that poem, and her occasional passionate hatred of it was, for reasons she didn't fully understand, all tied up with Fitz.

The phrase that killed her was " _Futile the winds to a heart in port_ " – these were the words that entered her brain uninvited, every single time she heard or saw or felt proof that Fitz loved her now, just as much as he loved her then, when they were almost claimed by the sea. Despite all he had been through, all he had suffered, he now seemed happy just to be with her. And she knew that on some level, she too was done with the compass, done with the chart. She knew what it was to feel unshakeable, unsinkable, safe because of Fitz. But in front of her lay the one calculation to which Dr Jemma Simmons was utterly unaccustomed because she didn't know what people meant when they talked about loving with their heart. Talk about misnomers! Her heart pumped her blood, and sometimes pumped it faster – maybe because she was jogging, maybe because she frustrated by not being able to solve some problem in the lab, maybe because he gave her one of those little smiles of his. But  _she_  loved with her brain and she hoped that was enough, that there wasn't some secret things hearts did that people in love had been keeping from Science and Medicine.

Fitz stirred and rolled over in his sleep. His face, still serene with slumber, was now turned towards her as if he'd just manoeuvred himself there to better carry on a conversation.

"Are you in love with me, Fitz?" she whispered, leaning her face right up close to his. "Am I in love with you? Are we in love?"

His eyelids flickered. Terrified that he'd heard her, she closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep.

Fitz awoke to find Jemma's nose so close to his that he could feel her gentle breathing against his lips. His body rocketed from fully asleep to fully alert in no time at all.

From the rhythm of her breathing she seemed to be so deeply asleep that whether he moved away or stayed right where he was would have made very little difference to her. Fitz decided to hold his ground and stay nose-to-nose with her, enjoying a proximity while she slept that he could never imagine achieving with her awake. A dangerous thought occurred to him.  _What if I just leaned in and kissed her?_  he wondered.  _If she woke up I could just pretend I'd kissed her in my sleep._ Something in the magic of the pre-dawn, the lubrication of the half-bottle of red and the dizzying nearness of Jemma convinced him it was a plan. He'd close his eyes, go in for the kiss and whatever happened, even if she sleep-kissed him back, he  _would not_  open his eyes. That way, whatever happened, if she was awake now or if she was awoken by his kiss, even if she asked him about it, he could pin it on a particularly vivid dream.

Not more than ten centimetres away, an identical plan was being hatched in the awake brain opposite, the same parameters in place. She would lean in, place the softest possible kiss on his extremely soft looking lips and even if he had just woken up when she stupidly whispered those questions before, as far as he knew, as long as she kept her eyes closed, she was dreaming.

The stars above, had they mystically become sentient, would have looked fondly down on two scientists in love kissing on the roof of a Winnebago parked in the middle of a remote desert. Fitz had begun to believe that he really  _was_ dreaming, as what he had imagined would be a quick peck on the lips seemed to have been so welcomed by a sleeping Jemma that she fostered it into a stupefyingly magnificent full-blown snog. Her arms had wound themselves around his neck and his arms had wound themselves around her waist. Fireworks were going off in Jemma's brain and body just as they were in Fitz's. This was it, she knew it at last – calculations be damned.

All at once there was a beeping and a flashing from all six dwarves surrounding the pair of them on the roof. Bashful was summoning them from the camper below – Skye must have woken up.

Instant internal alarm bells started ringing for the scientists, locked as they were in their passionate embrace.

How could she keep pretending she was dreaming when she was patently making out with her co-worker?

How could sticking to the plan of simply keeping his eyes closed save him now?

The beeping and flashing from the dwarves intensified.

Each of them made a snap decision. The same one. A lame one. Eyes tightly shut, they disentangled themselves and lay back in their beds, straight as an arrow, just for a couple of seconds. Then, yawning and stretching as if they really had just been woken by the dwarves, the two of them, each too mortified to admit what they'd initiated, grinned platonically at one another through their yawns and stretches and pretended that absolutely nothing had happened.


	19. Chapter 19

When a flustered Simmons finally swung herself back through the door of the camper, it was only to discover that Bashful had jumped the gun – it was a false alarm. Skye was no less comatose than she had been on arrival that afternoon. Perhaps she'd just stirred in her sleep. Jemma slumped against the wall of the camper to catch her breath, her legs barely holding her up. She could scarcely believe what had just transpired - could  _anyone_  have really slept through a kiss like that?

She gathered her wits enough to program an alteration to the sensitivity of Bashful's monitors but had no idea what to do next. Could she go back up to the roof and lie down in her swag as if nothing happened? She knew what she  _wanted_  to do. She wanted to get back up there and crawl straight into Fitz's sleeping bag – caution to the wind! But she knew what she  _would_  do. She was Dr Jemma Simmons. She'd pull herself together, fan her flushed face, take a few deep breaths and rejoin her best friend just as if he hadn't suddenly kissed her more soundly than she'd even imagined being kissed by Thor or Steve Rogers – and she'd given those scenarios some serious thought.

Up on the roof, Fitz was congratulating himself on finally finding out what it was like to kiss Simmons – and it was  _far_  more amazing than he had ever dreamed. He closed his eyes and relived the softness of her face against his, the sweet responsiveness of her lips, the heady sensation of her arms winding around his neck, the warmth of her lithe body in his arms. Like the good scientist he was, he immediately turned his attention to the problem of replicating the experiment. He knew better than most that one of the fundamental principles of the scientific method is  _reproducibility_. He knew that a valid result should be able to be replicated independently, whereas an invalid result, perhaps originally achieved due to some error or just chance, would not be able to be consistently reproduced.  _Consistent reproducibility_  he mused to himself, grinning up at the lights above.  _Oh, what I wouldn't give for a bit of consistent reproducibility where kissing Simmons is concerned._

ooo

_Nostalgia,_  Simmons was concluding below, her panic slowly abating.  _I'll climb back up there with some memory or other from the Academy and in almost no time we'll be quarrelling and I'll have forgotten all about what it was like to… Mmmmmm._ She shook her head. She'd have to do better at forgetting than that.  _Aha!_  she thought to herself.  _Just the thing_. And she composed her features, swung herself on to the ladder and started laughing what she hoped was a convincing enough laugh.

"False alarm!" she called merrily as she clambered back onto the roof. "Reminds me of that time we were working on your microgravity combustion research at the Academy – do you remember?"

Fitz gazed at her a moment too long before responding and almost put her right off. Something about her reappearing in his line of sight, her dark hair caught by the desert breeze, had him all the more determinedly calculating how to get her to kiss him again. As she plonked herself back into her swag, he smiled that little smile of his and shook her resolve once again.

_Why couldn't I just lean over and snog him?_  She thought to herself.  _It might save us an awkward conversation later._  She almost found herself yearning for Skye to wake up just so she could have someone else to talk it over with. But she already knew what Skye would say, even if they had managed to sneak a private conversation while Fitz was in the shower. It would be something along the lines of  _Just jump him already!_  and she was kind of in the market for some sort of restraint.

"Do you mean that time I left you watching the comparative diagnostics while I ducked out to make us some tea and forgot to warn you about the built-in test failure?" he chuckled.

"And I set off all the alarms and summoned an entire army in HAZMAT suits to the lab?" she sighed, feeling like maybe her plan was working.

"Not to mention setting off the in-ceiling sprinkler system," he reminded her, trying to stop himself from picturing her damp hair pressed against her forehead. "You were like a little drowned rat when I got back," he joked, trying to push down the sudden vivid memory of her flimsy pale pink cotton blouse clinging compellingly to her body.

"I was mortified," Jemma whispered, raising both hands to her face and channelling her present mortification into the memory of that past occasion.

"I remember," Fitz sympathised. "But as I recall you were publically commended in front of the whole academy for your quick thinking and your initiation of immediate response emergency protocols."

Jemma noticeably brightened. "That's true. Though, I'm still not sure whether or not I've entirely forgiven you for that."

"I only apologised about a thousand times," Fitz reminded her.

"You did apologise," she admitted.

" _And_  cooked your favourite meals for weeks on end,  _and_ did your laundry,  _and_  told that numpty Björklund to nob off when he wouldn't quit hanging around like a bad smell."

Jemma looked puzzled. "Björklund?" she asked. Her eyes suddenly widened. "Mattias Björklund?"

"Yeah, you remember," he groaned. "That muscle-bound Swedish physicist who kept leaving you chocolates and flowers in our lab, on our pristine work spaces no less! Calls himself a scientist, honestly."

"Do you mean to tell me," Jemma spoke very slowly, "That Mattias Björklund was trying to ask me out?"

Fitz rolled his eyes. "Why else would he have left you all those flowers and chocolates, Simmons!?"

She looked very pointedly into his eyes. "I don't know, Fitz. I never  _received_  any of the flowers or chocolates."

He looked confused. "You didn't?"

She shook her head, eyes wide. " _Why_  might I not have received any of the flowers or chocolates, Fitz?" Simmons was beginning to sound slightly dangerous.

It all came flooding back. "Ahh, I suppose I cleared most of them, umm, into the bin?" he suggested tentatively. "They were, as I said, left on our  _pristine work spaces_."

"I  _liked_  him, Fitz!" Jemma cried. "He was lovely! And it turns out that he  _did_  like me! But  _someone_  hid the evidence!"

"Nah," Fitz shook his head. "You wouldn't have got on with someone like that, Jemma. He was all muscles and no brain!"

"In future, I think I'd like to be in charge of deciding who I do and do not get on with, thank you Fitz!" she retorted. "I've followed his quite stellar career, I'll have you know, and he is most certainly not lacking in the brain department!"

"You've followed his career?" Fitz asked, trying not to let his voice get too high. "How closely are we talking?"

"Well!" retorted Jemma. "Not closely enough for someone he once left flowers and… hang on a minute," she stopped suddenly, remembering what he'd said earlier. "What do you mean that you told him to 'nob off'? And why did you list that in amongst the nice things you were doing to try to worm your way back into my good graces?"

"I thought he was annoying you!" Fitz shrugged.

"It sounds a lot more like he was annoying  _you_!" Jemma shot back.

"He was!" he cried. "Always hanging about, asking me what kind of things you liked, asking me where he could take you on dates."

"He was?" Jemma asked, astonished. "On dates?" Then her eyes narrowed. "And what, pray tell, did you say to him?"

Fitz could see he was on dangerous turf. The hope of replication of his recent experiment abruptly seemed a long way off. "I don't remember."

"You don't remember? Yet you suddenly seem to remember all the flowers and chocolates and date questions that you never remembered to pass on to me at the time!"

"We didn't have any time for dates," Fitz argued weakly. "We were always in the lab."

"Always in the lab?" she repeated incredulously. "I seem to remember a lot of time spent watching  _Dr Who_  and  _Buffy_  in your dorm room," she started checking things off on her fingers. "Ages fiddling about with recipes, weeks lost to our chess tournaments and card games, hours drawing fantasy blueprints in The Boiler Room, overnight movie marathons, our own private robotics championships…"

Fitz winced as she angrily listed the bulk of his most treasured memories from their days at the Academy. "You would have given all those things up just to date Professor Six-Pack?"

Jemma was silent for a moment. "No," she said softly. "I  _wouldn't_  have given any of them up." She sighed. "I just would like to have made the decision for myself."

"I'm sorry, Simmons. Honestly, I thought he was a hopeless case."

She gave him a look. "Don't you think I can attract anyone who isn't a hopeless case?"

Fitz opened his mouth and then closed it.  _He_  wasn't exactly tipping the balance in favour of the non-hopeless cases. He couldn't work out how to disagree with her strongly enough without giving too much away. He decided to fall back on sass. "I'm not even going to dignify that ridiculous question with an answer."

"As it happens, I have learnt one important thing," she mused.

"And what's that?"

"You are not nearly done with your grovelling. In fact, you've got double the amount of grovelling to do. And I'm adding interest to make up for all the time that's gone by – so that makes it  _triple_."

"No more telling potential suitors to nob off?" he asked, grinning.

"Shouldn't be too many chaps knocking my door down out here."

"You never know," he shrugged. "I wouldn't be the least bit surprised."


	20. Chapter 20

 

 

 

Being "relegated to catering" as Fitz liked to think of it, in his own special hard-done-by-genius sort of a way, had him yearning to do a bit of science, so he'd developed a private little hypothesis to work on. It was an extremely out-of-character hypothesis for a scientist of his calibre. It wasn't particularly testable, he hadn't established any variables, he didn't know where he would look for correlations and it was uncharacteristically optimistic. But seeing as he was hardly going to publish it, he didn't think that there would be too much harm done.

"People who are in love subconsciously reach out for their beloved while they sleep."

He recognised that, archaic language aside (did anybody even say  _beloved_  any more?), it was an odd hypothesis. He knew he'd struggle to get any of that bloody reproducibility happening, because under what other circumstances did two people with unspoken (at best unclarified, at worst  _unrequited_ ) feelings for one another sleep in such close proximity to one another? On the roof of a campervan in the desert no less. He imagined drafting the ad for a college bulletin board:

_Pairs of people who have not spoken about (or who are in denial of) their mutual affection for one another, needed for psychological study of in-love sleep behaviour. $100 per night for 1-2 weeks beginning March 4th. For further information and applications come to_ The Flying Haggis _, Atacama Desert, Chile._

Just the thought of it made him snort over the  _paella valenciana_  he had bubbling fragrantly away on the stovetop.

But then he turned his mind to the actual prompt for his hypothesis and his snort morphed into the dopey grin he'd been wearing for most of the week, at least when Jemma wasn't looking. Each morning they'd spent in the desert thus far, he'd awoken to find his body in some way entangled with Jemma's. The first morning, which he had initially put down to his reciting of poetry, she'd entwined the fingers of her right hand with the fingers of his, which made him feel a lot like Ron Weasley (and it had all worked out well in the end for him, so  _hooray!)._  The next morning, even though his vague plans to recite more poetry were derailed by a mostly affectionate argument about Grand Unified Theories ( _Ugh, Fitz, what is it with men and their bloody theories of everything!? You never read_ Pythagoras's Trousers: God, Physics, and the Gender War _did you? I only left it on your bedside table on about six different occasions!_ ), Jemma's head was nestled into the crook of his neck and her left arm was draped affectionately, even possessively across his chest. This morning, even though he must have rolled away from her in his sleep, he found her sleeping on his swag rather than her own, her body pressed right up against his back and her warm breath pleasantly tickling the hairs on the back of his neck.

_What does it mean?_  he wondered. Did it mean that she was used to sleeping cuddled up to some giant stuffed monkey? No, that fantasy belonged to him alone. Besides, he'd woken her up with a cup of tea enough times to know there was no monkey in her bed. Did it mean she was used to cuddling up to another person while she slept? As much as his tendency towards jealously and suspicion usually won in his every internal struggle, he'd known Jemma for a full decade now. They'd barely ever been separated from one another and, even in the obvious time they  _were_  recently apart, he knew with a certainty he'd rarely lay claim to that in that time Jemma only had room in her head for confusion about him.

And then, though he hadn't really allowed himself to dwell on it, there  _had_  been that inexplicable kiss.

He looked fondly over at her, bowed over her instruments. At once her head snapped upright.

"Fitz!" she cried. "She's stirring!"

She rushed to the isolation chamber, flinging the curtains aside. Behind the glass, Skye was yawning as if she'd just awoken from a pleasant afternoon nap.

"Finally," Jemma breathed. "Coulson was about to fly out here and wake her up himself!"

"He has been a bit antsy, hasn't he," replied Fitz, his voice somewhat muffled by virtue of having his head in the compact fridge as he fished about for a lemon. "Not that I blame him. Almost five days in a coma is a heck of a long time."

Simmons fussed over Skye, wanting to ensure that she woke as calmly and without incident as possible.

Skye suddenly opened one eye. "What  _is_  that amazing smell?" she asked immediately. "I'm starved!"

"Oh, Skye!" Jemma cried. "It's so lovely to have you back!"

"How long have I been asleep?" she asked, stretching her arms above her head.

"Four days, thirteen hours and twenty-one minutes," Fitz replied from over the stove top. "Simmons has been keeping a running tally."

"No wonder I'm hungry!" she exclaimed, running a hand through her hair. "You know what? Maybe I'll take a shower first."

Simmons helped Skye out of her chamber and into the little bathroom. She reappeared a moment later and, over the sound of the water running, Fitz couldn't help looking at her a little sadly as he prepared to say a momentary farewell to their time alone. It would be nice to have Skye awake, but he had so loved having Jemma all to himself. He impulsively caught her in an embrace as she went to walk back to Skye's chamber.

"These last few days have been such a nice holiday with you," he whispered into her ear. "Thank you."

Jemma had always loved the way  _thank you_  sounded in his Scottish accent. She returned his embrace with a squeeze and then pulled back to flash him her dazzling smile. "I'm the one who should be saying thank you – you've been waiting on me hand and foot! Besides, the holiday isn't over yet, Fitz. We still have every night together after ten."

He smiled back. "Good," he nodded. "I'm not quite ready to give you up yet."

"Who says you'll have to give me up?" she asked playfully. "Coulson said we could plan to start a family if we wanted to, remember?" The sound of water running suddenly stopped and the camper felt deafeningly quiet. It was extremely awkward and extremely silent. Jemma's cheeks turned pink. Fitz could only stare back at her, eyes wide.

_Note to self_ , Jemma cringed, internally curling up into a ball.  _Still not safe to flirt._

Jemma slipped out of his arms and busied herself in Skye's chamber and Fitz scurried back to the stove, trying to jump start his stalled brain with a few univariate polynomial equations. He wanted to laugh at himself – hadn't he just spent the last half hour casually dwelling on the fact that Jemma was cuddling up to him in her sleep? And yet one little joke from her, one fun, even flirtatious little foray onto the shaky ground that was their future together and he flipped right out. He spent the rest of his cooking time breathing deeply and trying to pull himself together so that he could meet Jemma's eye over dinner without going to pieces. Or worse, drawing Skye's attention to the awkwardness.

Skye emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam just as Fitz lowered the enormous pan of paella and a basket of freshly-baked crusty bread onto the table. Their patient was so hungry it took her some time to contribute her share of the conversation.

Jemma, noticing with approval how well Fitz had recovered from the earlier awkwardness, took the opportunity provided by Skye's rare silence to pass on Coulson's instructions about the official mission log.

"Of course Fitz and I have to take it in turns to fill out the official log and Skye, you have to fill out the mission log that Coulson gave you, so just to make it easier, which ever of us two isn't on the official log can just journal for that ten minutes a day so that we can all make the most of the quiet and concentrate. And don't worry, Fitz, whatever you and I write can remain totally confidential, the only reason it would need to be accessed by anyone at S.H.I.E.L.D. would be if one of us went nuts and murdered the others – then they'd probably subpoena it for psych eval purposes."

"Oh, that's comforting," Fitz replied, pushing a hunk of bread around his plate to soak up any overlooked saffron-infused juices.

"You guys are used to being pent up together in confined spaces, so I reckon it'll be me going nuts first," Skye dead-panned. "Keep one eye open while you sleep, hey?"

Jemma gave her a condescending smile. " _Someone_ 's forgetting about a certain organic compound that will be keeping us safe from any homicidal impulses on your part, Skye."

"Huh," Skye shrugged. "Well then, my money's on Fitz. You've always looked shifty to me, pal."

"Thank you for that inspiring vote of confidence, Skye," Fitz replied, getting to his feet and reaching for her empty plate.

"Hold your horses," Skye held her hands over her plate. "Most of that leftover paella has my name on it."

Fitz sat down again, grinning. "You like it?"

"Are you kidding?" Skye asked. "I know you might be like some rare scientific prodigy but I think you've missed your calling."

"Isn't that almost exactly what your mum says, Fitz?" Jemma laughed.

"She does?" Skye had a brief cuteness overload. "That is too sweet. She has a world-renowned science nerd for a son and she thinks you should have been a chef."

Fitz shrugged. "I think she always kind of hoped I'd run the kitchen in our pub back home."

"You grew up in a pub, Fitz?" Skye looked taken aback. "Not some global think tank?"

"My childhood was dizzyingly normal, I'll have you know," Fitz retorted.

Simmons rolled her eyes. "Apart from the telescope modifications that had NASA beating down your door."

"Seriously?" Skye queried.

"Like you can talk, Simmons," Fitz sighed. "Your work on immunomodulation therapy was on the radar of Human Genome Sciences  _and_  the entire Oxford University Regenerative Medicine Faculty before you even graduated from primary school."

"But I still climbed trees," Jemma said defensively. "I still played with my cat and learned to knit."

"What about you, Fitz?" Skye urged. "Go on. Prove to us how normal you were."

"I rode a bike, I collected stamps." Fitz rubbed the back of his neck. "I had my head dunked in the manky school toilets at least once a week."

"What about you, Skye?" Jemma asked. "What does a  _normal_  childhood look like, then?"

"I wouldn't know," she shrugged. "I never had one either. Though I like the sound of bikes and trees and cats and knitting."

"Well," said Fitz decisively. "We're a bunch of freaks, then. Safety in numbers."

"I'll drink to that," Skye proposed, raising her plastic cup in the air.

"Cheers," agreed FitzSimmons.

 


	21. Chapter 21

**Mission Log – Agent Jemma Simmons**

1100 hours 03/12/2015

Atacama Desert, Chile. 24.5000° S, 69.2500° W

Day One: Subject tested physical and mental limits with supervision and assistance of D.W.A.R.F.s.

Resulting seismic activity extremely high. Subject yet to assert noticeable control over powers.

Subject rendered catatonic. Returned by D.W.A.R.F.s to Mission Control: Flying Haggis and transferred to isolation chamber.

Observation of subject made bi-hourly. Vitals constantly monitored by Doc (D.W.A.R.F. #1)– all normal.

Subject unconscious for a total of four days, thirteen hours and twenty-one minutes.

Days Two through Five spent monitoring subject and planning future assessment of subject's powers.

On waking – vitals normal, appetite healthy, demeanour and mood normal.

Plan for Day Six – providing subject passes tomorrow's assessment of physical and mental health, ascertain her approval to resume testing of powers.

Request approval of proposed plan and seek confirmation of possible visit from The Bus mentioned in last communication.

ooo

**Mission Log – Agent Skye**

Hey D.C.,

Okay, okay, so I know you gave me some really intense instructions for how I was supposed to go about doing this whole mission log thing but, as FitzSimmons will testify, I have been fairly low on the brain activity for the last age and a half and so, sorry, I've totally forgotten. Kill me if you want but it'll be really unjust. I was in a coma, okay?

Anyway, all you really want to know is that I'm okay and FitzSimmons are looking after me, right? Yes and yes. I just slept for almost a week and, who knew, Fitz is seriously a Master Chef. Simmons is adorably fussing over me and I could NOT be in better hands, but I think you already knew that.

As for the powers, I don't know all that much yet, but you better not piss me off coz I can probably melt you with my eyeballs. Okay, no. But I can definitely make a building fall down around you and that'll get the job done. Freaky, huh?

I miss you and Simmons started a rumour that you're coming for a visit so get your ass out here. Drinks are on you. If you'll let me stay out of my cage overnight we could have an awesome sleepover? I'll just leave that with you.

Anyway, give my love to the crew. I dare you to try to cuddle May and say it was from me. No, don't. She'd probably punch you in the throat.

I expect your arrival any second now. Okaaaay, NOW! Nope, none of those my-will-is-instantly-done powers. Yeah, you already knew that. If I had powers like that S.H.I.E.L.D. would so have its headquarters in some Balinese resort by now and I would totally be dating Thor. Don't you think I'm  _so_  his type? His arms were made for me. But don't be telling him I said that if he happens to drop by.

Lots of love D.C.

Skye

ooo

**Fitz's Journal**

For the record, this journaling business seems to me to be completely absurd. But it has to be said, over the years I suppose I've gotten used to Simmons getting her way and so, here I sit, wedged with the other two around our tiny little table, all of us punching our finger tips at our devices. Ridiculous.

Well, what to report? The food this week has been spectacular, if I do say so myself. I suppose this will sound odd but it's nice to be appreciated for something other than my brain for a change. And of course there's that thing I've been doing where I've been pretending that Jemma and I are married and I'm just cooking dinner for my wife. That has been quite a lovely use of my prefrontal cortex, medial temporal lobes, and those regions located deep inside my parietal cortex. In my daydreams, Drs Leopold and Jemma Fitzsimmons have been only quite recently joined by the bonds of matrimony and we're inexplicably making our first home in a campervan. She's a successful and career-focused woman, I'm her domesticated and adoring husband, cheerfully holding up the home front. In my defense, I _was_  handed down a sentence of double-grovelling-plus-interest. This little fantasy just helps to keep it interesting.

And I guess if we're mentioning things that have been keeping it interesting –  _what_  is going on with Simmons? She is snuggling up to me in her sleep (which is extremely welcome!), attempting to flirt (I  _have_  to get better at reacting – maybe I could try flirting back? Probably not.) and, I might as well get into the spirit of this whole journaling thing, hey,  _Dear Diary_? We even  _kissed_. That whole experience remains a bit of a mystery. Perhaps I'll try to explain it to you sometime. Right now I'm still trying to explain it to myself. But even though I'm unable to account for  _how_  it happened, let me just say, not that it'll be of any surprise to anyone at all, kissing Jemma is most  _certainly_  something I hope to spend a lot more time doing in the future.

Bloody hell, I hope none of us does go crazy and kill the others. For starters, it would be really excruciating if this ridiculous journal did get subpoenaed, but even worse than that, I suppose it'd put a nasty end to my hopes in the romance department. Well, all of the departments really. Huh, trust me to start by dwelling on romantic things and end up thinking about being murdered.

Oh, thank goodness for that. I think the others are finally putting down their logs. That's  _quite_  enough touchy-feely journaling malarkey for one day, thank you very much!

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Mission Log – Agent Leopold Fitz**

0930 hours. 03/13/2015. Day Six. Atacama Desert, Chile. 24.5000° S, 69.2500° W

Good morning, Director Coulson,

Earlier this morning I caught myself up on Simmons' mission log entry from yesterday. Allow me to apologise. I must have been absorbed in some task or other and not noticed that she'd swallowed an ancient war-time manual on mission log protocol. Odd bird, that one, as I've often said. Though as you well know, she does love homework more than life itself. On reflection, I bet Hunter gave it to her as a prank. Tell him I said cheers! Suffice to say, over breakfast I teased her about it until her ears turned pink so hopefully you can expect at least a vaguely more rollicking read as of tomorrow.

In my role as Q (one can dream, Sir), allow me to quickly update you on tech and equipment matters. My modifications to the D.W.A.R.F.s have exceeded even my own extremely high expectations. Skye's isolation chamber appears to be more than meeting requirements. All is working perfectly as I am confident Simmons will attest.

Additionally, Simmons' organic compounds to induce sleep and then wake Skye, after last night's first test in the field, seem to be a triumph, even if they have failed to make Skye any more of a morning person. I believe she consumed four shots of my single origin Costa Rican espresso before managing to become personable this morning, even though I had slaved over home-made hollandaise sauce for Eggs Benedict and was quite anxious not to see it curdle. I believe you're a bit of a chef, Sir. Perhaps you understand that unique pain.

The one area in which I require some assistance is in the acquisition of items on the attached shopping list. Perhaps you could send out one of your flunkeys to fetch them for me. Am I right in assuming we'll be seeing you later this evening? Just drop me a line and let me know how many I should prepare to feed. If it helps, tonight I'll be serving coq au vin with a side of steamed broccoli and scalloped potatoes, followed by cherry clafouti with cream. I've got an excellent Beaujolais for the pot, but another bottle or two of a decent red wouldn't go astray if you felt so inclined.

Alright, Sir. I think that's probably all you need from me just now. I look forward to seeing you all soon. Oh, and if you could be sure to specify to your flunky that I'm only interested in  _organic_  kale, that would be wonderful.

Over and out,

Fitz.

ooo

**Mission Log – Agent Skye**

Hey again, Director-Face,

Apparently, while I was sleeping, you and my favourite nerds conspired to send me out into the desert again today. You know that I'd totally complain about that if I saw a need but I'm actually really excited. Cannot wait to test my strength again and lay down some genuine fault lines!

Fitz is desperately hoping you'll all come tonight and sample some fancy French dish he's making. I was trying to work out how we'd all cram into  _The Haggis_ , but duh, you guys will have The Bus. I don't hate the idea of stretching out on one of those comfy lounges for an hour or so, so I'm gonna work really hard not to be unconscious when you get here. Simmons has warned me though, if my first attempt is anything to go by, I'll probably be Sleeping Beauty by the time you arrive. You could always bring Thor along and see if he can wake me? He's a prince isn't he? Then at least you and I could have a game of Uno before you go? No, scratch that, if Thor's laying kisses on me, I won't be rebuffing his advances for a card game, not even a card game with my beloved D.C.

Well, guess I'll be in touch next time I'm awake. Come and watch me sleep for a while, hey? It'll be just like Captain America all over again only less muscles. And I think you love him more than me.

Love to the crew,

Skye

ooo

**Simmons' Journal**

Dear Diary,

At last! I can't believe that I managed to schedule official journal-writing time into this mission – every 48 hours! And I need you so much right now, my darling diary, my head is awhirl! Now I know that after Fitz agreed to work with me again we'd decided that I would keep this journal a Fitz-free zone just to prevent me from overthinking things. However, we'll have to lay that understanding aside for the duration of this mission because in  _The Haggis_  he and I are never more than five metres away from one another and, other than this precious time with you, I have no space at all to gather my wits and think. Despite the fact that it is utterly ludicrous that a twenty-six year old genius still addresses her diary in the first person, you are all I have.

Firstly, even thought I had approached this mission with a degree of uncertainty I am absolutely adoring all this time alone with Fitz. He is sweetly doing all the cleaning and all the cooking and we are feasting like royalty at every meal! I have to say, I do love watching him work. I plonk myself down at the little table and pretend to be scrutinising Skye's obs, but really I'm just gazing at him. And here's an extremely embarrassing secret: last night after we put Skye to bed, I let myself dream this little dream, in which Fitz and I were, wait for it…  _married_! In my little fantasy we've confessed our love for one another, Fitz has proposed over my morning cup of tea in my bunk on the bus, and we're in the early days of living happily ever after. And I suppose that at this juncture, after a revelation like that, I should force myself to type my own love confession in actual words at last… here goes…

I am in love with Fitz.

Secondly, allow me to tell you about an incredibly dangerous experiment. We were sleeping on the roof of  _The Haggis_  a few nights ago, each in our own swag, when Fitz rolled over in his sleep so that he was facing me. I was awake, my mind buzzing, slowly coming to the conclusion I just typed above. (Let me type it again: I am in love with Fitz!) Anyway, I leaned right up to him – he was fast asleep – and I asked him, just in a whisper, if he thought we were in love. And he stirred! It almost frightened the life out of me so I just shut my eyes tightly and pretended to be asleep. Then, this idea came to me. I thought "What if I just leaned in and kissed him?" and I developed the contingency plan that even if he woke up, I'd just keep my eyes shut and pretend to be in a deep sleep.

Well, oh my diary,  _what a kiss_! He seemed to stay fast asleep but, oh my, did he ever kiss me back!  _Of course_  we were interrupted by the D.W.A.R.F.s signalling Skye's false-alarm waking. His arms were around my waist, my arms were around his neck and we were snogging for dear life – waking to find himself in such a compromising position could have been excruciatingly embarrassing! But suddenly we just released one another and I pretended to yawn and do the whole waking up thing and he seemed to be genuinely waking from a deep sleep.

Tell you what, it took all of my self-discipline not to just go and climb into his sleeping bag after that, I felt like my body might burn itself up! And I managed not to do it, but every night since I've had these amazingly vivid dreams that I'm snuggling up to him while he sleeps. It is such a lovely, cosy, domestic and yet romantic sort of a scene in my head. And his body always seems to feel so real and so convincingly warm and firm in my arms. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining about the dreams. They just seem to be so powerful, unlike anything I've dreamt before. All of which adds further evidence to support my conclusion that, let me type it one more time, I am in love with Fitz.

And yesterday, just after Skye woke up and nipped into the shower, he took me in his arms in a way that evoked all of it – the kiss and the dreams – (not that it takes much, I'm re-living that breath-taking, knee-buckling kiss at all kinds of inconvenient moments!) and he seemed so beautifully self-assured, so confident that his embrace would be welcome to me, which of course it was! He thanked me in his dreamy (ha! Imagine me describing it like that a year ago! I would have gagged!) Scottish accent for our "holiday" together and I hope I made it clear to him that I'm loving it just as much as he seems to be. I  _did_  make the mistake of being a little bit flirty. He may not be up to that quite yet.

So where do you think we go from here? As I've perhaps said once or twice before, I am in love with Fitz! And of course I haven't forgotten overhearing his conversation with Mack before we left – he is quite delightfully still in love with me! And if it's not going to be him making any more love confessions, then I guess it'll have to be me. Though I suppose for the sake of being professional, and for Skye, perhaps I should wait til this mission is over…

Oh dear, the others are putting their devices away. I need more time to think! Well, I'll be back in 48 hours or so, my darling diary! If only I could rely on you to come up with a winning plan for me…


	23. Chapter 23

"Can I help with dinner?" Simmons offered, enclosing her Fitz-gazing-decoy tablet in its steel-grey cover and laying it aside.

"You're game!" he laughed, glancing at her over his shoulder. "You of all people know how exacting I can be of my kitchen-hands."

"And  _you_  of all people know how excellent a kitchen-hand I am, even by your exacting standards."

"I suppose that's true," he shrugged. "Alright, seeing as we have the whole team arriving any minute, want to slice some spuds for me?"

"Love to," she nodded, taking up a knife and getting to work. "It's a shame Skye's out cold again. She'll be so disappointed to miss seeing everyone."

"Perhaps I can make her some scones when she wakes up and she can tease me some more about elevenses and hobbits," Fitz offered.

"She'll enjoy that," Simmons agreed laughing. "And perhaps we can let her catch us gazing into one another's eyes and she can give us a good ribbing about that as well."

Fitz wasn't quite sure how to answer with anything beyond a nervous chuckle. He certainly didn't hate the idea of a bit of mutual eye-gazing, though he wasn't all that keen to hold it up to ridicule from Skye.

"How long have we got until The Bus touches down?" Simmons asked, her attention back on the potatoes.

"ETA 1900 hours," Fitz murmured, trying to give  _his_  full attention to tasting the simmering sauce. "Hmm, needs more Beaujolais."

"It'll be nice to catch up with the team," Jemma chattered. "I feel like it's been ages since I had a good talk with Bobbi."

Fitz looked at her thoughtfully. "Now that you mention it, I think I've been missing Mack quite a bit," he mused. "He's sort of been my enormous security blanket for the last few months."

Jemma didn't respond straight away. "Do you still feel like you need a security blanket?" she asked eventually, trying to sound as casual and off-hand as she could.

"Well," he paused a moment. "It's not like I've had any major triumphs of personal development." He looked down. "I guess I've just sort of got my old one back." He rubbed the back of his neck and turned back to the stove. "Mack's been a great friend, but I always liked my old security blanket best."

Jemma smiled. "Are we talking about me here? Because have you ever heard of a security blanket needing a security blanket before?"

Fitz grinned. "Is that all we are, Simmons? A co-dependent tangle of mouldy old blankets?"

"Speak for yourself!" she retorted in mock high-dudgeon, returning to slice the last potato. " _I_  am garden-fresh and sweet-smelling, thank you very much."

Fitz gazed back at her, helpless. " _You_ , Jemma," he moved ever so slightly towards her, his eyes blazing, " _You_  are incandescent," he breathed.

"Of, or pertaining to, a lightbulb?" she asked cheekily.

He shook his head. "Shining brilliantly," he corrected. "Luminous. Radiant. Characterised by ardent emotion or intensity. Aglow."

She smiled shyly at him as he made his ever-so-gradual approach. "I am?" she whispered.

He nodded intently. "You are." He watched his left hand as he slid it along the edge of the bench towards hers. "But it's not like that's a new discovery. You've dazzled me ever since I met you."

Jemma felt confident that her body probably still looked fairly normal on the outside, but on the inside she felt as if she were full of Mike Teevee's tiny little pieces of Wonka television chocolate, buzzing this way and that. Fitz's advance was so tentatively, tantalisingly slow, yet every bit of her responded to his approach, willing him closer, willing herself forward into his arms.

At the very moment their fingertips made contact on the edge of the bench, they felt the earth tremble beneath them and heard the thunderous sound of something like rushing waters. Each of them momentarily entertained the possibility that this was the universe applauding their connection at last, either that or Skye was seriously off her meds, but they quickly realised the noise and movement simply heralded the arrival of their friends on The Bus.

Jemma gave Fitz a sheepish smile and went to pull her hand away to finish the potatoes but before she knew it, Fitz had grabbed her hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a brief kiss onto her knuckles. He stared straight into her eyes as his lips touched her flesh and the air between them felt electric.

The door handle rattled and Fitz winked at her, releasing her hand, and turning to welcome their guests in one smooth movement. Jemma could only hope that she managed to present herself to the others far less flushed and flustered than she felt.

ooo

Later that night, after Fitz's spectacularly successful feast, she sat in the lounge on The Bus, momentarily alone with Bobbi. At last Bobbi asked her the question she'd been dying to answer all night.

"So," the tall woman asked, gracefully reclining with a gin and tonic. "How are things going with Fitz?"

Jemma's smile obviously functioned as one of those visual cues that Bobbi was so alert to. "That good, huh?" she grinned. "I'm glad you guys are gonna get to experience the ride after all." Her angular face grew serious. "You feel like it's going to be worth it?"

The slightest softening around Jemma's eyes and mouth conveyed to Bobbi the young scientist's whole-hearted assurance.

Bobbi nodded. "Nice." And laying down her G&T, Agent Morse got to her feet, fetched a cold bottle of champagne from somewhere in the recesses of the fridge, deftly swept up a couple of flutes with her free hand and held them up for approval. "Celebration?"

Jemma looked uncertain. "It does seem a bit premature…"

"Oh, rubbish," Bobbi cut her off. "You and Fitz are the surest thing I've ever seen, and believe me, I've seen some things."

While it wasn't quite the gushing debrief that Jemma had thought she needed, Bobbi's reading her mind and plying her with celebratory champagne more than sufficed.

ooo

Downstairs in the garage, Fitz and Mack tinkered with an engine in companionable silence.

"Everything ok with…?" Mack murmured.

Mack didn't have anything like Bobbi's interrogative skill, but one look at Fitz's face spoke more than eloquently.

"Everything's great," Fitz nodded, taking up a philips-head screwdriver. "Who knows?" he laughed. "By the end of this mission, she might even agree to let me take her out somewhere."

Mack chuckled and shook his head. "Furniture arrangements all ok?" he asked, one eyebrow raised suggestively.

Fitz fixed him with a mock-stern stare. "Now, now."

Mack raised his giant hands in surrender. "Forget I even asked."

The scientist assumed a playfully superior air. "Besides," he added. "Even if there  _were_  anything to report about the furniture or otherwise, a gentleman never tells."

ooo

Coulson saw his whole team merrily catching up on The Bus and took his opportunity to slip quietly out to  _The Haggis_. Behind her glass walls Skye slept serenely, Bashful hovering protectively by her side.

Coulson placed his palm affectionately against the glass. "I miss you, Skye," he whispered. "You're doing good out here and I'm so proud of you."

He sensed before he heard May's presence behind him. "How is she?" May asked.

"She looks peaceful," he murmured.

"And how are you?" she replied.

"May?" He was silent for a moment. "Do you think this is what it feels like to be a parent?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "To feel like your heart somehow got outside your body and you can't keep it safe anymore?"

May didn't speak. She just laid the palm of her hand against Coulson's tense shoulder blade, much as he pressed his, with his love, toward Skye.


	24. Chapter 24

"She's always been a bit of a cheap drunk," Fitz chuckled sympathetically, as he and Hunter carried a deeply slumbering Simmons up the stairs of  _The Haggis_. Fitz had his elbows hooked under her each of her arms and Lance carried her legs.

"And Bobbi's always been a total harpy where booze is concerned," Lance laughed. "She's drunk me under the table I don't know how many times."

"Well, I'm not sure if that'll be much comfort to Simmons with the headache she's going to have in the morning." Fitz yanked the bed down from the wall and the two of them gently laid her down on it.

"Hair of the dog, mate," Lance suggested. "You're head chef on this boat aren't you? Whip her up a champagne breakfast."

Fitz nodded, leaning over to stroke a stray hair away from Jemma's face.

"Anyway, better be getting back," he extended his hand to Fitz, who straightened up and shook it warmly. "Take care of our girls, won't you mate."

"'Course," said Fitz.

"Coulson's grateful for what you're doing out here, you know," Lance added generously. "And the rest of us miss the three of you on The Bus."

"Even May?" Fitz joked.

Hunter looked back at him seriously. "May most of all!" he winked. "But that's just my private theory. I wouldn't dare suggest it to her. Anyway, without our Trip we need Skye to supply the American sass and I miss my fellow countrymen. No one understands a good ale like you, mate."

"Keep training Mack," Fitz laughed. "He'll catch on eventually."

"Maybe, but I'll never persuade him to make a start on our homebrew idea until you're safely back on base to supervise."

Fitz snorted. "That's probably for the best!"

"Alright, mate. You're the boss," Lance shrugged good-naturedly. "Anyway, I'm off. Give my love to the birds when they wake, eh?"

"Will do," Fitz nodded as Hunter made his way down the steps, letting the door swing shut behind him.

He turned thoughtfully back to Simmons, slowly crossing the van and kneeling on the floor next to the bed.

"Poor lass," he whispered, leaning over to place a soft kiss on her forehead. "And you're not even conscious to advise me how best to treat your hangover." He shook his head. "You'll just have to get by on tea and sympathy."

ooo

In the few moments before Jemma's headache came hammering in on her, she registered momentary confusion at the unfamiliar sight of the campervan ceiling rather than the shimmering cosmos above her.

A sizzling noise buzzed not unpleasantly nearby. It was then that she smelled the bacon.

"Tell me where to find the drugs and anything you need is yours," Fitz whispered, crouching down beside her.

"Ugh," she groaned, covering her eyes against the bright mid-morning light. "Why did I let Bobbi open that second bottle?"

"She said you'd been celebrating something but she wouldn't tell me what," Fitz replied, keeping his voice low and his movements slow. "I have my mum's post-hangover fry-up on the stove and there's a pot of tea brewing, though Hunter did suggest the hair of the dog, and I'm sure I  _could_  rustle you up some alcohol if you really think it would help?"

Simmons went to shake her head and then had to lie still for a moment. "Actually, there is an easy cure for an alcohol hangover," she managed.

"Name it and I'll get it for you."

"Sadly, it's the preventative moderation of alcohol consumption," she sighed.

"Right. Fry-up then? It's always seemed to work for you in the past."

"Mmm. And the box of nonsteroidal anti-inflammatories in the locker above you, please."

"Do you need any help getting up?" he asked gently.

"Just pretend you're not here while I stagger inelegantly to the bathroom," she muttered.

"I've seen you like this enough times to know that even hung-over Simmons is never anything less than the epitome of elegance," he said, handing her the box of medicine.

She attempted a smile as she pulled herself into a sitting position, but it came out as more of a grimace.

"And Jemma?"

She was trying not to see stars after throwing her head back to swallow the pills. "Mmph?"

"Why don't you take my hot water for the day. I think that affords you a whole four minutes in the shower. Not exactly luxury, but if my studies have taught me anything, four minutes are better than two when it comes to a hot shower after a big night."

"Bless you, Fitz," she mumbled over her shoulder as she teetered across the campervan. "You are worth your weight in bacon and anti-inflammatories."

ooo

Simmons spent the bulk of the day lying sprawled across the bed, dozing fitfully. Whenever she woke, Fitz was nearby, asking in a respectfully hushed tone if she needed more tea or snacks or drugs.

Being rendered incompetent had its advantages. Fitz didn't seem to find it too awkward that she just watched him performing mundane tasks for almost a full hour. And when she pulled a pathetic puppy dog face and patted the mattress next to her, he didn't make any excuses. He obediently clambered onto the bed with her and let her rest her aching head on his chest while he traced mesmerising fractals with his fingertips all across her back.

By the time the sun went down she felt recovered enough to agree to his suggestion that they get up onto the roof and watch the stars rising. Of course, Fitz knew that the stars didn't exactly rise, but he also knew that it was another one of Simmons' sanctioned misnomers and she'd had a hard day so he swallowed his professional meticulousness and went along with it. He also had a new trick he'd taught the D.W.A.R.F.s that he wanted to show her.

They wriggled into their swags and Fitz couldn't help but notice and delight in the way Jemma shamelessly snuggled up against him, wide awake though she was.

"What's the best story you know about stars, Fitz?" she prompted, hoping she could just set him off and listen to him talk for a while, his voice a deep rumble from beneath her, the beating of his heart keeping time in her head.

"Oooh, good question," he murmured, thinking for a moment. "Do you mean like the repeating pulses from that quasar that's pointing to a monster black hole collision?"

"Umm, I was thinking of something more along the lines of an actual story, you know, with characters and a plot."

"You do realise that's not usually my area of expertise."

"Go on, Fitz. For me?"

"I suppose I  _am_  a Scotsman."

"Exactly."

"Well… Have you ever heard how the  _Coma Berenices_  constellation got its name?"

She smiled to herself. "Tell me the story."

Fitz settled back into his swag, one arm behind his head, treasuring Jemma's warm weight resting against him. "How do you feel about artistic license?" he asked, warming to his task. "After all, like most of my fellow highlanders, I was raised to believe that you should never let the truth spoil a good story."

She waved her arm as she might a royal sceptre. "I grant you whatever such license you require."

"Brilliant. Once upon a time…"

"I like it already."

"Excellent. Now stop interrupting. Once upon a time, long ago in Ancient Egypt, there lived a beautiful young woman named Berenice. Now Berenice had long golden hair of which she was very proud. In fact, it actually made her a bit vain."

"That's not very romantic."

"Patience is a virtue, Simmons."

"Go on then."

"Her hair was her crowning glory and it attracted the attention of many an eligible young man. But she spurned every suitor until the day she received a proposal from the top dog - the dashing and powerful King of Egypt, Ptolemy III Euergetes."

"Good sort, was he?"

"Well, I've seen some coins and statues that have survived from the third century BC. He had a bit of a nose on him."

"Didn't they all, those ancient men of status?"

"I suppose. Anyway, she managed to overlook the giant schnoz and she became Queen Berenice II of Egypt. Now, tragically, while they were still only newlyweds, Egypt went to war with Syria and Ptolemy took himself off on a grudge match vengeance mission against the Seleucids who had earlier murdered his beloved sister."

"Oh, sad!"

"Indeed. And Queen Berenice was distraught, for she loved the giant-nosed fellow and didn't want to see him end up dead in a ditch somewhere, so she did what any young woman with nous would do – she went to see Aphrodite."

"Now, Aphrodite… She's the Greek goddess of…?"

"Simmons! Didn't you pay any attention at school?"

"Of course I paid attention," she retorted. "To the things I could see had real-world practical application! What was the use of learning about some decrepit pantheon of dodgy deities who got about in bed sheets and enjoyed smiting innocent people in dead languages?"

She could feel Fitz shaking his head in disgust.

"I made more practical use of the time in Classics lessons working on regenerative medicine in the back of my mind."

"I bet you topped the subject anyway."

"Well, yes. But you would have topped plenty of subjects that you paid no attention in."

"I didn't do terribly well in Sewing."

"I don't believe you."

"Well, as it happens, the teacher  _did_  end up making me top because I serviced all the machines for her. I even built her a new one from scratch to her detailed specifications."

"That was altruistic of you."

"It also gave me somewhere to hide from my nemeses. Besides, she had a good heater in that sewing room and a nice selection of biscuits, did dear old Miss Penelope."

"Back to Berenice. I'm in suspense!"

"Right, so, off she trots to Aphrodite who, for your information you flaming ignoramus… Ow!"

"You deserved that."

"Alright, sorry. Anyway, Aphrodite is the goddess of love, beauty and fertility."

"Ah, Venus!"

"Precisely. That's her Roman name. Anyway, so deep is Berenice's love for King Big Nose that she swears to Aphrodite that if the goddess can bring back her husband alive, presumably even with his schnoz intact, she'll sacrifice her precious long hair."

"And does he come home safely?"

"Yes!"

"So it's off to the barbers for Bernie."

"Indeed. But, something scandalous happens…"

"Of course it does."

"Bernie places her precious ponytail in the temple of Aphrodite but, the next morning, the hair is gone! King Big Nose is livid!"

"Someone nicked her hair?"

"Enter Conon, the savvy court astronomer."

"A hero of yours?"

"Perhaps we could call him that. Now Conon knows which side his bread is buttered. So he announces to the king and queen that the goddess was so thrilled with Bernie's offering, that she took the golden hair, and placed it in the sky."

"Up here for thinking, Conon!"

"And look," said Fitz, taking his tablet from under his swag and punching at it a few times. Suddenly, even the ever-constant sky above them shifted and changed.

"Your telescopic modifications!" Jemma cried. "Where on earth did you find the time?"

"It's nothing, really," Fitz shrugged with the nonchalance of a world-renowned rocket scientist, as a section of the cosmos was suddenly magnified above them. "But look here – that's Beta Comae Berenices. It's also got an Arabic name I can't pronounce that means 'the curl'." He pointed with his arm outstretched as he guided her attention around their bit of amplified sky. "And here, that's Alpha Comae Berenices – some people call it the Diadem 'cause it's meant to be the gem in Bernie's crown. You can't tell but there are actually two stars in there that for years were mistaken for one singular star."

Jemma smiled to herself as she found each of the stars Fitz showed her.

"And here, and here," he continued, drawing a holographic line to demonstrate the angle of the configuration. "So, there. That's Bernie's hairy constellation."

"Nice."

"Good story?" he asked.

"It's very moving that she was willing to make such a sacrifice for the safety of the one she loved."

"Mmm. It was rather nice of her, wasn't it."

"I wish I could name a constellation after  _you_ , Fitz," Jemma whispered.

"After me?" he scoffed. "I don't think I've quite reached the minimal life-time achievement that even gets you on the extremely-long-list for consideration of an honour of that magnitude."

"But Bernie just hacked off her ponytail."

"You didn't get that bit where I said she was vain?"

Jemma suddenly rolled onto her stomach and propped herself up on one elbow so she looked down at a surprised Fitz. "My dear, you're the one being a bit dense. Not me."

Fitz's eyebrows knitted in confusion. He supposed Jemma was probably still a bit under the influence so he resolved to humour her.

"Go on then," he urged. "Explain to me what I'm missing."

"I  _said_  I wish I could name a constellation after you, but I didn't mean because of anything anyone out there in the world would know about…"

He grinned blankly up at her. "Because of what then?"

She shook her head exasperatedly. "Call yourself a genius, honestly."

"Well, I try not to call  _myself_  a genius. I try to let other people do that."

"Ok, Fitz. Let me join the dots for you."

"That's how you get constellations!"

Her face took on an intensity quite unlike her typical reaction to his stupid jokes.

"Jemma? You ok?"

"This mythical queen," she began. "She cuts off some hair in a bid to protect the one she loves."

"Top marks for comprehension."

"Fitz."

"Mmm?"

"Has it really faded into the background for you already? We're talking about a queen immortalised for giving up her hair when you tried to give your  _life_  for mine."

The weight of memory abruptly rushed in on him, much as the ocean all those months (or was it only moments?) ago. It was odd, Fitz mused in one of the few stable parts of his suddenly swirling consciousness, that the more time he'd spent with Simmons recently, the less he'd been forced to re-live, in terrifying authenticity, the most intense and horrific moments of his life, which were all suffocatingly waterlogged and entangled around Jemma.

"I tried," Fitz managed a muted smile. "But you didn't let me."

"Fitz," she whispered urgently. "I wouldn't even  _be_  here if it weren't for you."

"And  _I_ wouldn't be here if it weren't for  _you_."

* * *


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you find you need to go back for a refresher, their diary entries are in Ch 21 & 22\. You'll see what I mean in a minute…

Under the magnified stars, the tale of a light-weight ancient sacrifice, and their own relatively staggering reality, Fitz looked up at Jemma who lay on her stomach next to him on the roof of  _The Haggis_ , her cheek resting thoughtfully against her right fist. She gazed out over his head into the dark desert beyond the D.W.A.R.F.s that hovered noiselessly around them.

She'd been silent for a while, as if she hoped he might shoulder the burden of conversation, but he was flooded. Suddenly, to his utter astonishment, Simmons began reciting a poem. And it was a poem he knew. It was a poem he treasured. She spoke the words into the desert night with a simple and unaffected sincerity, giving a voice to the very deepest of his yearnings and her own:

_Wild nights! Wild nights!_  
Were I with thee,  
Wild nights should be  
Our luxury!

_Futile the winds_  
To a heart in port,  
Done with the compass,  
Done with the chart.

_Rowing in Eden!_  
Ah! the sea!  
Might I but moor  
To-night in thee!

As she recited the closing three lines of the poem, she shifted her glance from the dark shapes around them and sought his gaze. Both of them had tears shining in their eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment.

"Emily Dickinson," his voice cracked.

She nodded.

"When did you learn it?"

She shrugged, unable to speak further.

"Jemma? Did you learn it while you were in hospital waiting for me to wake up?"

Her brow knitted in confusion. "How did you know?"

"Because a few days after I'd come out of the coma, when my mum came to gather my things and take me back to the base, she found a book that had fallen under my bed and she packed it into my bag thinking it was mine. It was  _The Complete Works of Emily Dickinson_."

"I hunted for it everywhere. Turned my bunk upside down."

"You left a bus ticket inside it, marking that page."

Jemma nodded.

"When at last I could manage to read it," he raised his hand to touch her face. "It was all about you."

She nodded again, more vigorously, no longer able to check her tears.

He grinned, his own tears still sparkling in the corners of his eyes. "Jemma? Are you…?" he paused, still too afraid to say it out loud. "Do you…?"

She nodded more vigorously still. Then suddenly, she leapt to her feet and disappeared down the ladder, leaving Fitz alone on the roof under the  _Coma Berenices._

"Jemma?" he called after her. But she was already re-appearing, clambering back up the ladder, her hair wild and her face glistening with tears. She plonked herself back down next to him and handed him her tablet, then buried her face into his chest.

Fitz was baffled, but wrapping one arm firmly around her, he tried to focus his attention on whatever it was she had given him to look at.

" _Dear Diary_ ," he read. " _At last! I can't believe that I managed to schedule official journal-writing time into this mission – every 48 hours!_ "

"You've given me your journal?" he asked aloud.

She nodded against his chest but refused to look up.

"You're sure you want me to read this?"

Her head made the same affirmative movement but stayed hidden.

Fitz settled in to what was sure to be an entertaining and revealing read. At first he was intrigued – he wondered why Jemma and her diary had come to the agreement that it would be a Fitz-free zone. Overthinking? That was his stock and trade when it came to her.

He smiled to himself as he read her description of his domestic activity, and his smile grew especially wide when he learnt that all those hours he thought she'd been devoted to her work, she had actually been just watching him. He liked how she used the words " _gazing at him_ ". It made his chest tighten. And then he read about her daydream and simultaneously laughed and wept to see that they'd fantasised about the same committed future together. At the sound of his laughter, Jemma curled herself more firmly into a ball and he squeezed her more tightly against him.

And then he read the first confession. " _I am in love with Fitz._ " The second followed hard upon.

"Jemma!" he cried. "You  _do_  love me!" He kissed the top of her head repeatedly, the only surface of her body that she made available to him.

He gasped. "And you  _did_  kiss me that night! You were  _awake_!"

"Were you?" he heard her muffled query.

"Yup!" he replied triumphantly. "Seems we hatched the same cunning plot."

He read on quietly a moment longer, feeling that any minute he could spontaneously combust from joy. "And you  _liked_  it." He whispered, delighted. "You liked us kissing a  _lot_!" He could not stop gleefully chuckling at every further sentence he read.

"In fact," he went on. "You're still re-living it!"

"…Breath-taking! Knee-buckling!"

" _...And_  you think my accent is  _dreamy_!" he whispered incredulously.

"Hang on. You overheard my conversation with Mack?"

She kept her head down but he felt her nodding.

"Was that what brought on all that Chinese food and the beer and the  _Sherlock_?"

She nodded again.

"Brilliant. And  _now_  I understand why you gave Mack such a hard time about the beds. You were punishing him, weren't you."

More nodding.

"Ok, well, you don't have to look at me if you're still too embarrassed, not that you have any reason to be. Would it help if I let you read my journal entry?"

The nodding became quite emphatic.

"Alright," he grabbed it up from under his swag and swiped his way to the right file. "Here you go, Simmons."

She took the device eagerly, without meeting his eye, and then flipped herself over so that the curve of her back pressed pleasantly into his side.

Jemma gasped and then giggled to see that she and Fitz had been entertaining themselves with the self-same domestic daydream.

She gave a strangled sort of cry. "Fitz! Why didn't you tell me that I was cuddling up to you in my sleep?! I thought I was dreaming!"

"I know," he laughed. "But I didn't want to say anything for fear of putting a stop to it!"

She giggled again. "You liked kissing me too."

"I most certainly did," he agreed.

"You want to spend a lot more time kissing me in the future," she read.

"I most certainly do," he nodded.

"Starting now?" she whispered.

"Well, only if that's amenable to you."

"Wait," she said, rolling over to face him at last. "If we start now, we're starting something  _big_."

"Monumental!" Fitz cried. "Colossal! Immense! You, Jemma Simmons, actually love  _me_!"

She laughed. "Of course I love you. I probably have done the whole time we've known each other and I've just been too dense to see it." She grew serious. "Fitz, I'm so sorry I put you through all of that awfulness and uncertainty."

He shook his head. "Any amount of awfulness and uncertainty on my part has been utterly worthwhile given that it's led us to  _this_  place of blissful certainty and requitedness!"

She beamed at him. "Alright then, about that kissing…"

It was Fitz's turn to apply the brakes. "Good things come to those who wait, Simmons. Let's have a quick think about this before you go and kiss me again and render me incapable of thought."

She shot him an almost irresistible pout but he managed to reply with a cheeky grin and stand his ground.

"I'm the one who's been the beacon of self-knowledge here. It looks like up until a couple of days ago, you were still in denial about how you felt. So seeing as I _clearly_  have the lead where disciplined living is concerned, can I make a suggestion?"

Jemma had scoffed her way through his playful little speech but she nodded her assent.

"What if we agree to take it slow, especially while we're still out here in  _The Haggis_. Let's make the most of our time alone together while Skye's in her chamber, but let's not rush anything. We still have to be able to function and perform our duties and be here for Skye."

Jemma nodded, her lips pursed uncertainly.

"You're not convinced?"

"Well," she paused. "What exactly do you mean by 'taking it slow'? Doesn't that usually imply that two people aren't too sure how they feel about one another and so they decide that they don't want to rush into a commitment?"

"Oh," said Fitz. "Is that what it usually means?"

"I think so, but I'm mainly getting that from American films and you know how they can be."

"Mmm," he nodded. "Because that's not what I meant by 'taking it slow' at all." He thought for a moment. "Jemma, I'm about as far gone as I imagine a man can get. I've probably been in love with you since I met you, but certainly since Trip came on the scene and frightened me into realising that I could lose you. I am happy to declare to you now, as boldly as you like, that I am most certainly  _not_  afraid of rushing into commitment. In fact, if I thought you'd enjoy it, I'd ask you to be my wife right this very minute."

She smiled sweetly at him as he reached out his hand to brush away a sparkling tear rolling down her cheek.

"My most cherished ambition, Jemma," Fitz went on, "Is that I might get to spend the rest of my life making you happy and, now that I know you quite like that idea, I am  _not_  going to shy away from it." He paused and summoned up his courage. "What I  _meant_  before, when I said we should take it slow, when I said we shouldn't rush anything, is that perhaps we should give ourselves some time before we let things develop between us… um…  _physically_."

"Ah," Jemma nodded. "You're probably right. Coulson would have our heads if we got all caught up in one another and neglected Skye. But lots of kissing? Is that allowed?"

"Definitely," he breathed, reaching out to pull her close. "At least while Skye's unconscious."

"Long may it last," she sighed, closing her eyes as Fitz's soft lips brushed against her own.

 


	26. Chapter 26

One evening when Fitz was a young teenager, in their flat above the pub, his mum had sat him in front of  _Saturday Night Fever_. Clearly it had been one of the influential viewing experiences of her youth. Perhaps she thought it might burst his intellectual bubble and give him a gritty and heady taste of what 'real life' could be like. He had found the film deeply unsettling. But the one scene that stayed with him ever after was the opening frames on the streets of Brooklyn where a young John Travolta unabashedly strutted through his local area to the strains of  _The Bee Gees_. The platform shoes and bell-bottom trousers he could give or take, but that emotion, that sense of triumph and self-assuredness had always been attractive and elusive to the young Fitz. From where did that young man find those reserves of bravado and audacity? Would someone like him ever experience something like that?

Sprawled on the roof of  _The Haggis_  in the violet pre-dawn of the desert sky, with his beloved sleeping nestled against him, Fitz remembered that scene. It was Jemma who made him feel like he could be that guy. The first time he'd tasted anything like it was the day he finally came up with the words that he thought had impressed her and won him her friendship way back in chem lab at the Academy. With Jemma as his partner, his journey through the ranks of S.H.I.E.L.D. was in some ways the road to that confidence, and occasional cockiness, that had characterised his early days on The Bus. But  _now_  he felt like he could genuinely strut through life buoyed by the knowledge that someone like him could win, not just the friendship, but the  _love_  of someone like her.

Fitz had found the activities of the previous evening extremely enjoyable, and he judged from the little moans his kisses wrested from Jemma, and the enthusiasm with which she kissed him back, that she had found it all pretty enjoyable too. At some point she must have slipped one hand between the buttons of his shirt because now, as she slept, her fingertips rested against the bare skin of his torso. It was as if that square inch or so of skin-to-skin contact was a concentrated energy source, charged to bursting from the night before, and now his whole body felt electrified.

The sky was turning orange and mango around the edges and he knew, vampire-like, it wouldn't be long before they had to get inside. He placed a soft kiss on her forehead and she stirred. He traced one finger gently along her jawline and raised her face up to his so that he could kiss her awake. He felt her smile against his lips.

"Good morning," she whispered.

"Good morning, my love," he whispered back. "We better get inside. Anything I can do to help?"

She yawned and stretched her arms above her head. "How about you go first and get the kettle boiling?"

"Done," he grinned, extricating himself from her embrace.

Suddenly he found himself gripped by the front of the shirt and pulled back for another kiss. "Sorry," she murmured against his lips. "Seems I wasn't ready to not be kissing you."

"We can take it up again the minute we get inside," he offered cheerfully.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Alright then."

"Still want me to put the kettle on?"

"What are you waiting for?"

He looked down. "You still have a fistful of my shirt."

"Oh, well, while you're here…"

It took some time for them to disentangle themselves from one another, but eventually he made it down the ladder and into the van below.

Alone on the roof, Jemma stretched extravagantly, star-fish like, blissful under the slowly warming fuchsia haze above. A few bright stars still seemed to smile down on her, congratulating her on making this crucial connection at long last. She half-wanted to kick herself over all that lost time which could have been spent being kissed by this man who  _clearly_  knew how it should be done. And it was extra irritating seeing as most people had assumed they were a couple all this time anyway – all that assumption and none of the heart-pounding snogging that could have gone with it!

But then, she  _was_  a scientist, and scientists could be notoriously over-cautious when entering into a new field of research. At least now she could be confident that after all these years of running inadvertent experiments and simulations on him, she  _knew_  Fitz. Science wasn't a discipline for proof but it was certainly a discipline for evidence and the evidence stacked up. He was a keeper. And more than that, the evidence strongly suggested he had her heart… Or her brain… Or whichever was the most important bit for him to have.

She gathered up their remaining bits and pieces from the roof and clambered down the ladder. Fitz stood leaning against the kitchen bench next to the bubbling kettle, an expression of deep contentment on his face.

Jemma sized him up from the doorway. "So, let me get this straight. I can just saunter over there and slip my arms right around you any time I want?"

"Be my guest."

She sidled up to him, a little bashfully, while Fitz just stood still and grinned at her. She moved in close and tentatively placed both palms against his chest, her fingertips touching the base of his collar-bone. He let out an audible sigh at her touch, he couldn't hold it in. No woman had ever walked quite so determinedly into his personal space before, certainly no woman with Jemma's current intentions.

She smiled coyly at him and he smiled back but held his ground, unmoving. Jemma slid her hands around his neck and moved ever closer, the length of her body now pressed lightly against his. Her left hand turned downwards and followed his spine, the crook of her elbow resting against the side of his neck, her fingers splayed out against his back. She wound the fingers of her right hand into the shaggy curls at the base of his neck and Fitz moaned softly, closing his eyes. Jemma looked up at his face – his features soft, eyes shut, lips slightly parted. She stood on tiptoe to gently graze her nose and mouth against his bristly cheek, leaving a trail of tiny kisses along the line of his jaw.

Fitz could no longer keep his arms stoically by his side. He had to hold on to her, had to snake his arms around her waist and pull her more firmly against him. Her soft laughter sounded husky against his throat and her feathery kisses travelled slowly all the way up to his earlobe drawing another soft moan.

Jemma slid her elbows back down the front of his shirt so that she could hold his face tenderly in her hands. He opened his eyes to find her gazing up at him, her hazel orbs once again brimming with shining tears of love and happiness. He moved gently forward to find the blush of her lips with his own, and felt the sensation of her hot tears spilling down his cheeks and falling into an imagined reservoir of mutual feeling that filled up the space between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just to say – I want Fitz to strut again – don't you? My Fitz is gonna strut, even if the "real" Fitz ends up curled into the foetal position.


	27. Chapter 27

It had been less than twenty-four hours since that first monumental kiss but Dr Jemma Simmons, educated woman of global renown and independent means, had already forgotten how she ever sat near Fitz without sitting directly on his lap, how she ever stood close by him without winding her arms around his waist, how she ever walked past him as he worked without touching her lips to the nape of his neck. And yet here she was, forcing herself to sit opposite him at the tiny campervan table, trying to have a sensible breakfast discussion about how they would proceed once Skye was awake. And the plan so far, utterly ludicrous and torturous though it seemed, was that they would pretend as though nothing had changed between them.

Fitz was taking it particularly hard.

"Jemma, how can we pretend that nothing has changed when clearly EVERYTHING has changed! This is monumental! And now you're suggesting we go back? It's like calling for the devolution of the species!"

"Come on, Fitz," encouraged Jemma, trying to resist the desire to rub her foot against his under the table. "That's a bit far-fetched. And you're the one who gets so antsy about misnomers – you of all people know that devolution is a fallacy."

"Well, yes," he admitted. "But in my defense, I have been consciously yearning for what we've  _only just started_  for quite a bit longer than you." He sighed. "Jemma, I  _ached_ for you." He reached across the table and took her hand in his. "And I've had everything I've ever wanted for one single day and now you're asking me to give you up."

Jemma hadn't quite recovered from the plaintive echo of Fitz's "ached", nor the look in his eyes that accompanied it – she felt as though her insides were melting like wax. However, she steeled herself to scold him like the Simmons of old. "Honestly, Fitz. No one is asking you to give me up, least of all me!" She softened her voice to a whisper. "You never have to ache for me again, Fitz. I am  _utterly_  yours."

Fitz couldn't quite speak but the muscle twitching in his jaw and the shine of his eyes told her he'd heard her just fine.

"Anyway, I should make you aware," she went on after a moment or so of passionate gazing. "Remember when you had to block your ears and hum the other day?"

He grinned. "Skye was going to out us?"

"Yup. She gave me til Monday 20th March to work out how I felt about you. After that she said she'd be 'going to town', whatever that means."

Fitz leaned back, throwing his arms behind his head. "You know, perhaps I  _could_  feel better about us pretending that nothing was going on between us if it was all in the name of pranking Skye."

" _Now_  you're talking," she said encouragingly, squeezing his hand. "And if today's the 15th, we have at least five days…"

"…To convince her that we hate each other's guts?"

"I don't think we could quite pull that off…," she said, grinning. "Do you?"

Fitz shook his head emphatically. "I guess I could try to convince her that I've developed a hopeless crush on May?" he offered.

Jemma fixed him with a look. "Skye's not an idiot, Fitz."

"No, I suppose not."

"You  _could_ try to convince her you've ditched me and resurrected your once quite ardent feelings for  _her_ ," Jemma suggested, somewhat deviously.

Fitz's face turned a deep shade of vermillion. "That was what Americans call a rookie-error…" he babbled. "It was the novelty of being out of the lab… It was ill-advised… It was…"

"…Hilariously awkward to watch," Jemma laughed.

"I was young and stupid," he spluttered, trying to dig himself out of his hole. "She was…"

"…Beautiful and glamorous?" she offered.

"No!" he cried. "Not nearly as beautiful or glamorous as you!"

"It's alright, Fitz," she giggled. "I don't see Skye as a threat."

"You're sure?" he asked, somewhat reassured.

Jemma rolled her eyes. "I don't think you're exactly her type."

Fitz's face conveyed a middle-ground between relief and amused offence.

"Fitz, honestly,  _she's_  not exactly  _your_  type, is she?"

"I don't have a type," he retorted. "I only want you."

Jemma stood up, leaned across the table and kissed him soundly. She pulled back, leaving him beaming.

"So, what  _are_  we going to do about Skye?" she asked, plonking herself back in her seat.

"Maybe you could kiss me again?" Fitz suggested hopefully. "I'm pretty sure it helps me think."

"I'm pretty sure it doesn't!" she argued.

"I know, what if we just keep pumping that organic compound into Skye's chamber and keep her asleep for the rest of the trip?"

"And we would explain that to Coulson how exactly?"

"Ah…"

"There's nothing else for it, Fitz. It's going to have to come down to bloody-minded self-control. Anyway," she said archly, "Aren't you supposed to be the beacon of self-knowledge and the champion of disciplined living on this trip?"

Fitz sighed, holding up his palms in surrender. "Alright, during the hours of 8am and 10pm, and any further incidences of depressed-consciousness on Skye's part, you return to being merely my best friend in the world."

"And under those circumstances, a  _reasonable_  amount of friendly affection is allowed," Jemma added.

"But no kissing," Fitz pouted.

"And no holding hands," she sighed.

"No shoulder massages?"

She shook her head. "And no taking me into your arms," she said mournfully.

He grinned. "Are you going to be able to resist me, Simmons?"

She looked at her watch. She hopped out of her seat and checked on Skye. She turned back to face him. "There's no reason that I should be resisting you right this second," she said, somewhat provocatively.

"There isn't?" Fitz asked, sliding out of his seat.

"Not unless you have homework to do."

"Well, eventually I will have to think about lunch," he conceded, moving towards her.

"Who can even  _think_  about food when we're in love?!" she cried.

Fitz stopped still, fixing her with a nervous look.

"Don't worry, Fitz," she laughed merrily. "I was only joking. I am very aware that you can't go more than half-an-hour without thinking about food – in love or otherwise."

"Phew," Fitz sighed. "I was beginning to think that maybe you didn't know me at all."

She held out her arms to him and he scooped her right off the ground, pressing her stomach tightly against his chest so that she looked down on him from above. Jemma slid her fingers into his unruly curls and lent down to kiss him tenderly. Their lips still locked, he ever-so-slightly loosened his grip so that she slid gradually back to the ground.

"So, none of  _this_  when Skye's awake?" he murmured, smiling against her lips.

She sighed. "I think this probably falls under the category of inappropriate displays of affection, yes," she agreed, reluctantly.

"This is going to be really hard," Fitz groaned.

"But just think," Jemma whispered bewitchingly into his ear. "Thanks to that lovely organic compound, once the clock hits 10pm…"

Fitz smirked. "You're all  _mine_."

"Nope!" she laughed. "Don't you remember how the story goes?  _You_  turn into a pumpkin."

"But then we live happily ever after?"

"I think so, yes."

"That's alright then."


	28. Chapter 28

Of course the depth of the challenge didn't become fully apparent until early that same evening when Skye woke up.

It was around dinner-time and their patient was starving but Fitz was uncharacteristically behind on preparing the evening meal. His attention had been entirely consumed by other downright vital matters he'd been passionately attending to. It was quite a festival of stutters and stammers to see a flush-faced Fitz and Jemma trying to hash together a plausible excuse.

"Never mind, Skye," Simmons managed eventually, fishing out a box of crackers and trying to appear happy to see to her friend conscious. "Let's just nibble on these and sit and have a look at your test results from before you blacked-out while Fitz gets to work."

Fitz shot her a grateful glance,  _just_  managed to resist blowing her a kiss, and started rummaging through the fridge.

It didn't take long for her to warm to her task. Skye's results really were extraordinary. And Simmons was still Simmons. Truth be told, not  _all_  of her time had been spent gazing at Fitz, at least not all of her time  _before_ their little diary exchange. She had at least achieved some cursory number crunching and edited some of the video footage to enable her to discuss her findings with Skye when she awoke.

"I genuinely think you're making amazing progress in harnessing your powers," Jemma enthused. "Do you remember much of what happened while we had you out there?"

Skye nodded. "I remember it all! Did you see how I was learning to control effects of the force, or whatever it is, that causes the quakes?"

"That's what we thought we were seeing, wasn't it, Fitz?" Jemma agreed.

"Jem even thought she saw you increase and intensify the amount of force you were using as you concentrated," Fitz agreed, his attention focused on the rack of lamb he was trimming.

"Yes! I  _was_ doing that. I really am learning to contr… Wait," Skye suddenly paused, eyes narrowed. "Did you just call her 'Jem'?"

"Nooo," Fitz looked guilty and then tried to cover it up. "You know me, Skye! I'm a mumbler of old."

Skye looked unconvinced, but Simmons managed to lure her back into conversation by raving about the extent of her gifts.

"Don't call it a 'gift'," Skye shuddered, thankfully taking the bait. "It makes me think of Raina."

"I wonder what's happened to her," Fitz said into the oven as he slid the lamb in to cook. "You said she wasn't looking like she'd be donning a flowery frock any time soon."

"I doubt if she'd be as enthusiastic about the effects of The Diviner these days," Skye shook her head. "Though I guess we have no idea what her powers might be. Last I saw her she was slinking off into the darkness, but after what I'd just been through, I didn't feel all that keen to chase after her."

"The team didn't seem to have any updates about her whereabouts," Jemma added. "I guess they're keeping a close eye out."

"I almost forgot!" Skye cried. "The team visited! How is everyone? How's D.C.?"

"Well, you'll be pleased to hear that everyone _raved_  about my coq au vin," Fitz pointed out first of all.

Jemma beamed at him. "It really was a triumph." Their facial expressions involuntarily softened as they gazed at one another until Fitz managed to snap himself out of it. He coughed loudly to alert Simmons.

"But you know, Fitz," Jemma went on, feeling a pang of sadness that she had to pretend to insult him rather than tell Skye how she really felt. "He just could not stop harping on about his recipe and how many bottles of claret..."

"Ahem… Beaujolais, thank you," Fitz corrected her authentically. "Only the very best for the team."

"Oh, whatever, Fitz," Jemma shook her head in mock-exasperation, hoping that Skye was buying it. She leaned back, out of Skye's line of sight and threw Fitz a wink behind her back. It pained her that she felt she had to be dismissive of him in order to convince Skye that things were normal between them. She looked forward to establishing a new normal once the cat was out of the bag. "Anyway, they all seemed to be in good health."

"Bobbi got Simmons drunk which was entertaining," Fitz threw in, feeling the same pain of betrayal as Jemma. "It took her a full day to recover from the hangover."

Jemma nodded dolefully. "I  _am_  a cheap drunk as I'm confident Fitz is just about to cheerfully inform you."

Fitz tried not to look too apologetic. "At least you're easily entertained."

"And you?" Skye turned to Fitz. "Where were you when all this drinking was going on, Fitz?"

"Mack and I were down in the garage, tinkering with an engine," Fitz replied as he topped and tailed a pile of green beans. "It was nice to have some time to catch up with him. I miss him out here."

"I'm so jealous!" Skye cried petulantly. "I wanted to drink with Bobbi and tease May and play cards with Coulson and talk celebrity gossip with Hunter and Mack."

"Celebrity gossip?" Fitz mouthed to himself, his face conveying his disgust.

Jemma nodded sympathetically. "We know, Skye. We all missed you too."

"Did D.C. come in here and say hi to me?"

Simmons and Fitz both shrugged simultaneously.

"I'm sure he did, Skye," Jemma assured her. She sighed, "I was probably just too busy drinking not-actually-all-that-much to have noticed."

"D'you guys think we could maybe do one of those video calls tomorrow?" she asked, somewhat plaintively. "I'm kind of hanging out for a deep and meaningful with the top dog."

Fitz nodded. "I have to call in with him after breakfast anyway."

"Ok, great," Skye bobbed excitedly in her seat. "By the way, Fitz." She held the box of crackers upside down to show just how empty it was. "I am  _starving_  here. Is there anything else I can munch on?"

Fitz quickly checked on the meat. "Maybe five more minutes cooking and fifteen minutes resting time before I can carve it?" he speculated.

"Do you want to have a quick shower, Skye," Simmons suggested innocently. "And then maybe we can write up our mission logs?"

Fitz nodded his agreement. "Dinner will definitely be good to go after that."

"Ok," Skye agreed, getting to her feet and rummaging in her bag for the things she needed. "I'll try not to eat my shampoo in the meantime."

"Do keep away from the shampoo if you can, Skye," Simmons urged, standing up and pre-emptively sidling across the camper in the general direction of Fitz. "It's just a goo of surfactants, preservatives and artificial colour." She paused, "Probably no worse than your average fizzy drink, I suppose, if you doubled its mass with corn syrup."

"Ok, I'm going to pretend I never heard you say that," Skye shuddered as she gathered up her towel.

The two of them managed to wait until they heard the bathroom lock latch before they flew into one another's arms. In record time Fitz had one hand wound into her chocolate curls, the other arm around her waist, pressing her tightly against him. Jemma had both arms round his neck as they breathlessly made up for the forty minutes just passed in which their lips had not touched even once. Not more than thirty seconds later, they flew apart at the sound of the bathroom lock _un_ latching. Jemma threw herself onto the floor, her back turned to Skye, and pretended to be searching for something in her bag. Fitz yanked open the oven door and in his flustered state, almost forgot to grab an oven-mitt before he reached for the blistering roasting pan.

"Forgot my comb," Skye explained as she walked across the van to fetch it. She didn't seem to notice that her companions kept their heads down and their flushed faces hidden.

This time, they waited impatiently until they heard the shower start before they reached out for one another.

"That was close," Fitz tried to warn, sliding his arms around her waist once more.

Jemma's lips were on his before he'd even finished his three word sentence. He tried to say more but Jemma pulled back and fixed him with a look of pleading desperation.

"Less talking, more kissing!" she groaned.

Fitz's face, in the following milliseconds before it was once more eclipsed by Jemma's, was pure delight. In that moment, when the woman he had never dreamed would return his affection was unashamedly begging him to kiss her, he speculated that there could be no man more profoundly chuffed than he.


	29. Chapter 29

**Mission Log – Agent Jemma Simmons**

2130 hours. 03/18/2015. Atacama Desert, Chile. 24.5000° S, 69.2500° W

Good evening, Director Coulson,

Allow me to apologise for the unnecessary formality of my first log. You can be assured that Fitz has laughed me out of my pretensions on that front. And yes, it was Hunter who gave me the extremely out-dated handbook on mission log protocol – I suppose that because he has a lackadaisical attitude to his work, he likes to make fun of those who take a more earnest approach. Fitz thinks it was a brilliant prank, and, in the brief moments when I'm able to see past my wounded pride, I suppose that he's probably right.

We're having a simply fabulous time out here, sir. I suppose that missions like this, with such an enormous degree of exploration and personal discovery only come around once in a lifetime.  _Obviously_ , I'm referring to the amazing privilege of being the first ones to work with arguably the world's next great super hero.

Skye's gifts are simply staggering. Please look through the detailed report that Fitz and I have attached and you will immediately see what immense power she wields as well as clear evidence of the leaps and bounds she has made in harnessing those powers by the sheer force of her will. Application to join The Avengers Initiative does not seem like too much of a stretch to us, sir.

As for any negative side effects or any deleterious impact of outside interference, we are confident to report that Skye will not be easily distracted. In the last few days we've had a chance to throw at her the full gamut of muck and pain from the files you gave us and, if anything, she has shown that she's simply able to harness that pain, channel it and use it to her advantage. She is still, on occasion, physically tired at the conclusion of a period of using her powers. That said, it has been a number of days now, even with quite extensive use of her gifts (incidentally, she doesn't particularly enjoy her powers being referred to as her 'gift' due to Raina's use of that term), and she has not only maintained consciousness, but been increasingly sprightly afterwards, almost as if the use of her powers might eventually start to recharge rather than deplete her energy.

Within herself, Skye seems calm and centred. In the course of our conversations over the comms while she's been out testing her strength, it has become apparent that the vulnerabilities she once felt, to people like her father and especially to Ward, no longer seem to cause her anxiety. She does not appear to be planning anything like revenge. Rather, she says she feels that they can no longer touch her – she knows that whatever power or skill they may have, her power and skill now far surpasses them both. It must be a heady sort of a feeling, don't you think, sir? To know with such confidence that you can best those you fear?

Fitz and I are unequivocally recommending that you begin your own assessment of her, perhaps you might even feel ready to take her into the field. Her loyalty, both to S.H.I.E.L.D. and especially to you, Sir, is in no doubt. We imagine that she will prove to be a phenomenal asset.

We look forward to discussing this with you further (and perhaps planning a bit of a celebration for Skye!?),

Simmons.

ooo

**Mission Log – Agent Skye**

Well, D.C.?

I bet you didn't see this coming. When you took me in, I was a poky little puppy, an ugly duckling, the little engine that couldn't. But things have  _seriously_ changed. Simmons thinks I'm the next Supergirl or something. She's a sweetie.

I can tell you one thing – Fitz and Simmons didn't hold back on bringing the pain. When I get back I'm gonna use some of these powers of mine to make you let me read my file! Where did you get all that stuff? Anyway, I may have shed a few tears along the way but nothing actually managed to derail me. I'm not gonna claim to be bullet proof but I've at least stood up to all of your little challenges so far.

So, what's next? Do I get to audition for The Avengers? That is one super group that I  _so_  want to have a shot at! And don't worry, I won't embarrass you – I can totally play it cool around Thor. Simmons says he has a girlfriend anyway. Apparently, she's some out-of-this-world astrophysicist and Fitz is a total fanboy.  _Of her research_ , he ever-so-quickly clarified. Rocket scientists and astrophysicists – sounds like a match made in heaven. Though if she's dated Thor's arms, she might find Fitz a bit twiggy. Anyway, as if there's anyone other than Simmons out there for Fitz.

I have been phenomenally restrained when it comes to those two, by the way, D.C. You should be proud of me. It has  _not_  been easy. I'm sure there's something going on between them but I've got no hard evidence to speak of. Anyway, I plan to start making it awkward for them  _real_  soon.

In the meantime, all the love, D.C.

Miss your face.

Skye

ooo

**Fitz's Journal**

Oh, what the heck… Dear Diary,

It looks very likely that I will have the unique privilege of getting to spend the rest of my life with a stunningly beautiful woman who happens to keep a journal. Consequently, I figure that to fill in all that time stretching ahead of us while she scribbles in  _her_  diary, I might as well take up the habit myself. Apparently, back in her room at base, she has a little tin of coloured pencils and some favourite pens and she sketches in a paper journal  _as well_  as pouring out her heart. Honestly, how on earth does she find the time? Of course, it's because she must be superhuman herself. Not like Skye, obviously, it's more subtle than that. Perhaps that might account for the shimmering lustre of her hair? And I have often thought her cheeks make such impossibly perfect apples. Also, no human woman has lips as soft as hers, surely? Not that I've done the research to find out… And how else could I explain her peachy skin or that exquisite figure? She  _must_  be an 084.

(Just in case, heaven forbid, Skye's progress  _does_  take a sudden turn for the worse and I  _am_  the victim of a homicide and this device  _is_ subpoenaed for evidence, I want to make clear that this is simply the fanciful figurative language of a man in love. I am employing hyperbole as a device to convey how deeply I am in awe of Agent Jemma Simmons. I do not for a moment suspect her of actually having any alien DNA. She's just extremely pretty and amazing.)

In our latest conversations, which have been along the blissful lines of making plans for our future together, one of the possibilities we've raised is that of us shacking up together in her room on base (no room for two in my bunk on The Bus! Not with all my cardies strewn all over the floor!). In which case, that very tin of fancy pens and pencils will suddenly become 50% mine under California law.

The secret I'm keeping, Dear Diary (and this is where you come in extremely handy because I do actually  _have_  to get this off my chest), is that I'm sneakily drawing up blueprints for a ring. Yes. I am. And it is going to be magnificent. How well I remember Mum pulling up a stool so I could get up high enough to peer into the drawer where she kept Great Gran's enormous emerald.

"One day," she said, "You can have that stone and make a pretty ring for the lady you want to marry!"

I remember dwelling on girl's germs and planning to give that whole thing an enormous miss but, as she so rightly predicted, I have quite dramatically changed my mind. As for settings and metals and all that palaver, I suppose I'll have to do a bit more research before I actually start making anything. I'm definitely going to investigate the possibility of using silicon carbide-coated Vibranium alloy – sure, it looks pretty dark in the cell on The Bus but it might polish up brightly enough to set off my gigantic emerald. The one thing I do know, though, is that it's going to have the words  _beside me the whole damn time_ engraved in tiny writing all around the inside of the band. I think she'll like that, even though I initially said it in anger.

In some ways it's odd that I want to etch that phrase into something she'll wear forever. Even  _thinking_  those words brings back to me the cold terror I felt all of that day as we worked to find the antiserum for the Chitauri virus. I honestly don't know how I could ever have moved forward without Jemma. But I think that is exactly the sentiment I want to express.

I've come close enough since then to having to face the future without her and those were the bleakest days of my life – even bleaker than the dark days before we met. It's because of all that that I don't even want to shack up. I think, what the heck? I steered clear of girls all that time. I've managed to make a beeline straight for  _The One_. Why not just make it entirely official and then get on with spending the rest of my life in her heavenly company? As her husband no less!

_Her husband_  – that phrase resonates more deeply within me than  _Knight of the Realm_  or  _Cambridge Churchill Scholarship Holder_  or  _Nobel Prize Winning Physicist_ ever did.

_My wife, Dr Jemma Fitzsimmons…_  Wow, diaries don't seem to take long to make converts, do they? I started off doubtful and ended up  _exactly_  where I've always imagined a diary entry would end up. But where previously the idea of writing the name of one's future spouse might have induced nausea, now it thrills me to the core.  _Drs Jemma and Leopold Fitzsimmons._  My nine-year-old self is off somewhere spewing into a bucket but twenty-six year old me is the utter embodiment of unforseen joy and contentment.

Ooh, looks like Skye and Jemma have been finished with their logs for a while.

Keep my secret for me, won't you, Diary?

(Actually, that's a bit creepy. I'm really trying to get into the spirit of the diary thing but I'm not sure that we can keep going with this first person business…)


	30. Chapter 30

"Do I  _have_  to?" Skye pleaded as she reluctantly climbed into her isolation chamber.

"It's almost 2200 hours, Skye," Simmons replied firmly. "You know the rules."

"We've been doing this for aaages now," Skye whined. "Mom? Surely it's time my super-strict curfew can be re-negotiated?"

Jemma decisively shook her head.

"Dad?" Skye looked plaintively at Fitz over Jemma's shoulder. "Come on, Fitz," she cajoled. "Just this one night? We could sing karaoke?"

Fitz gave her a stern look. "On any other day, Skye, you might have had a shot at persuading us…"

"…But frankly," Jemma continued, "You've been driving us mental  _all day long_."

"I wasn't even  _here_  for most of the day," Skye argued. "You two pushed me out into the desert again."

Jemma gave an exasperated sigh. "Testing your powers is actually the reason we're out here in the first place, or have you forgotten?"

"And just because we couldn't see you doesn't mean we couldn't  _hear_  you," Fitz added angrily.

"Look," said Skye, holding up her palms defensively. "I am just trying to make you two see what is  _obvious_  to everyone else."

"You have made your point very loudly and extremely repetitively, thank you Skye," Jemma retorted.

Skye sighed. Then her expression turned mischievous. "Well, I guess all I can do is leave the two of you alone with all I've been saying ringing in your ears."

The two scientists stared back at her, unmoved.

Skye looked defeated. "I haven't made things even a little bit awkward for you?"

"You really think you're the first person who has ever taken it upon themselves to play match-maker?" Fitz scoffed. "Let's see there was Amy Prendergast in our first year study group at the Academy..."

"…she locked us into a broom cupboard together and told us not to come out until we'd kissed." Simmons went on, counting on her fingers. "That guy, Simon, who lived in the dorm room next to you with that fake flower delivery…"

"…Mani at the campus café who used to put the other's initial inside a little heart in the foam on our coffees," Fitz added. "Julie in the Boiler Room; Scott, Harry and Jennifer in Chem; Jorge with the mistletoe in Physics…"

"…Karen and Camille who hid our underwear in each others' baskets at the laundromat; Professor Engelmann and Professor Faber pairing us off for all our late-night experiments with those ridiculous waggling eyebrows…"

"…and remember Jeremy?" Simmons turned to Skye to explain. "He was Fitz's thesis advisor. He used to give him all kinds of ridiculous dating advice…"

"…every S.O. we've ever had…"

"… Fitz's mum…"

"… Mr and Mrs Simmons…"

"… and now you," Jemma shrugged. "So, honestly, Skye, it's not like you've told us anything we haven't heard before."

Skye was staring up at them from her pillow, open-mouthed. " _That_  many people  _including your parents_  think you guys should get together?"

"Oh, at least that many," Jemma laughed. "It happens so often we've stopped paying any attention, haven't we Fitz?"

He nodded wearily, hands on hips.

"Essentially, you're telling me that every person the two of you have ever met think that you're made for each other," Skye recapped.

Fitz shook his head, laughing. "You think that after all this time they'd get another hobby!"

Skye looked pointedly from one scientist to the other. "You've never even considered it?"

Fitz and Simmons looked one another over appraisingly and then burst into laughter.

Fitz threw his arm platonically around Jemma's shoulder. "This woman is my best friend in the world." He gave her a little squeeze.

Skye looked to Simmons, who was smiling happily. Her eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me you've never even thought about seeing Fitz nak…"

"Oh, for goodness sake, Skye," Jemma exploded, slamming the chamber door. "Goodnight!" she ordered.

Skye looked back to Fitz who was shaking his head disapprovingly at her.

She felt her eyes and limbs getting heavy.

She blinked slowly, once… twice…

Through her nearly closed lashes she could see Fitz and Simmons watching her intently.

She let her eyes fall closed for a few seconds.

It took all of her strength to force them open for one more glimpse at the outside world.

Through the tiny, hazy slits of her remaining vision, just as she was falling powerlessly into sleep, Skye could have sworn she saw Jemma fly into Fitz's open arms and passionately press her lips against his.

_Fitz is right, I gotta get a new hobby_ , she mused to herself at the very brink of unconsciousness. _Now I'm even having FitzSimmons-themed hallucinations._


	31. Chapter 31

It took the pair of them quite a long time to come up for air after having to get through a whole afternoon on the strength of one friendly side-squeeze alone. They hadn't even managed to adjourn to the roof, so desperate had they been to reacquaint themselves with the sensation of one another's arms and lips.

Fitz leaned over a still-panting Jemma and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Shall we take this upstairs?" he asked cheekily.

Jemma contributed an equally suggestive eyebrow-waggle in return. "How could I resist such a charming invitation?"

Moments later, Fitz in his flannel pyjamas and Jemma in Fitz's Proclaimers t-shirt, snuggled together under the vast canopy above. They'd gotten into the habit of only lugging one swag up onto the roof now. There was no point in the second – they couldn't cope with that much distance between them, especially after a long day so close but so far apart like the one they'd just seen.

One lingering kiss flourished into the next and Jemma began to feel whole once more. It was as if Skye had managed to chip splinters off her with her constant irritation. What an ordeal – to have been hassled all day about how she should just get over herself and accept that she was in love with Fitz when that hurdle was now well and truly behind her and all she wanted to do was spend every minute of every day showing him that.

She sighed aloud and Fitz could immediately tell the difference between that sigh and her sighs of pleasure to which he was becoming jubilantly accustomed.

"Tell me what's upsetting you, love," he whispered, adjusting his posture so that he could look into her eyes.

Jemma gave him a sad smile. "They were right all these years, Fitz. All of them."

He nodded, rolling his eyes. "Even bloody Amy Prendergast."

"I feel a bit stupid for not listening to any of them," she lamented. "And you know how much I hate feeling stupid."

Fitz couldn't help laughing gently.

"You can laugh," Jemma nudged him reprovingly. "You've known how you felt a lot longer than I have."

Fitz gave her a look. "You're going to hate me for saying this."

"Oh?"

"I don't think you were being stupid then but I think you might be being a tiny bit stupid now."

"Explain yourself this instant!" Jemma gasped playfully.

"Jem, they may have been right when they saw that we  _should_  be together, but I wouldn't have been satisfied with simply taking their word for it." He paused to plant a soft kiss on her forehead. "Not if it meant I had to exchange the wonderful and terrifying process of actually falling in love with you, or realising that I  _was_ in love with you, or whatever it was that happened back there."

She smiled at him warmly.

"And having only recently found myself to be requited," he continued, smiling back, "I am so glad you didn't just bow to peer pressure. It was much more enjoyable, though no less terrifying, to watch you gradually realise that you felt the same way about me as I felt about you."

"You don't feel even slightly miffed that we were practically the very last ones to realise?" she pressed. "When it was something about our very own selves?"

Fitz looked thoughtfully over her head before finding her gaze once more. He shook his head. "I think I'm genuinely alright with being proven the simpleton in just this particular set of circumstances."

She shrugged, unconvinced.

"Jem, I think we're used to associating not knowing something with humiliation," he suggested.

She nodded soberly.

"But where's the humiliation in this situation?" he asked joyfully. "One day, I'll be able to walk down the street in Glasgow holding hands with  _you_ , you magnificent creature! And when we run into those dropkicks that used to pick on me at school, showing you off will be about as far away from humiliation as a once-bullied boy can get!" Fitz laughed. "Anyway, as far as I'm concerned, this whole thing right here?" He nodded towards their bodies, entangled together, and brought her fingers which were entwined with his, up to his lips. " _This_  is my most impressive triumph."

"I'm not sure you've got a future as a motivational speaker," Simmons grinned at him.

He gave an exaggerated shrug, his shoulders around his ears. "Who cares!?" he cried gleefully. "I've got a future with you!"

Jemma grabbed him and kissed him furiously, the force of her embrace pushing him onto his back. Eventually, she raised herself up so that she sat on his stomach, laughing breathlessly down at him. Fitz laughed a moment with her and then his expression softened.

He gazed up at her against the backdrop of the heavenly bodies above and marvelled at Jemma's tousled hair, shining eyes and merry laughter reverberating through his body. He found himself overcome, a straining sensation in his chest and throat that threatened to blast him into a googol pieces.

"Are you alright, love?" Jemma asked, concerned, as she gently brushed away the single tear glistening on Fitz's cheek.

"God, I love you, Jemma," he replied, his voice gruff with emotion. "I never even imagined I was capable of feeling this elated."

Jemma leant forward, resting her weight against her hands on either side of Fitz's head. Her hair fell forward, framing her hazel eyes so that, to Fitz, they seemed to glow like the stars above. She wore the sweetest of smiles and it somehow burrowed its way into his heart and made him feel all the more in danger of bursting with happiness.

"I love you too, Fitz," Jemma whispered in return, and lowered herself against his chest, finding his lips once more.

Later, as Fitz held Jemma against him, their eyes heavy as they began to lose their fight against the sleep that came to claim them, she suddenly gave an irritated grunt.

"What is it?" Fitz yawned.

"Skye," Simmons growled. "What are we going to do about  _her_  tomorrow?"

Fitz shrugged. "More of the same I guess. Though is it time we got started on her suit?"

"I'd say so," Jemma agreed. "Think we can make her a sound-proof one?"

Fitz chuckled. "We could definitely give that idea some thought."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly jumped from the last chapter straight to the next one but thought you guys might appreciate a little bit of undiluted FitzSimmons fluff...


	32. Chapter 32

"Ow! Geez! Take it easy, Simmons!" Skye complained, rubbing at the latest pin-prick in her side.

"It would help if you could stay still for one solitary minute," Simmons fumed through closed lips as she tried to hold onto a number of colourfully-tipped dress-making pins.

"How are those adjustments coming, Simmons?" Fitz called from his seat behind the sewing machine.

"We might make more progress if we sedate her first," she muttered.

"Hey!" Skye objected. "I'm standing right here!"

"That has hardly escaped my notice."

"You still haven't let me off the hook from yesterday, have you?" Skye asked, looking slightly remorseful.

"What makes you say that?" Simmons asked, somewhat archly.

"I'm like a human pin cushion here!" Skye cried. "I'm sorry, ok?"

"Really?" Simmons sounded sceptical.

"Really."

"You're not about to start it all up again?"

"On my honour as a hacktivist," Skye swore, hands on her heart.

Fitz snorted. "That sounds highly dubious."

" _You_  forgive me, right Fitz?"

He raised his eyes resignedly from the seam he was sewing. "If today can be a new day for you, then I suppose I can let it be a new day for me."

"Great." Skye raised her palms in surrender and looked pointedly at Jemma. "New day all round?"

"Alright, then," Simmons replied, somewhat grudgingly. "It's a new day."

"So," said Skye, doing her best to keep her tone light as she changed the subject, "How long have you been all artsy-craftsy, Fitz?"

"Mum used to have me make up new curtains and bedspreads for the few rooms we had above the pub. We used to mainly attract the sort of clientele that liked to set fire to things while under the influence."

"So no shortage of opportunities to practice?"

"Correct."

"And you made Mike Peterson a suit, right?"

Fitz nodded, concentrating.

"It's actually the same fabric that we're using for you, Skye," Simmons took over. "We brought it with us because we suspected you'd eventually be needing a suit of your own. It's a polymer blend with ten layers of treated composite material. Perfect for an array of tactical missions and it measures your heart rate, systolic pressures and glucose levels all while providing state-of-the-art ballistic protection."

"Did you just read that off the back of the box?" Skye laughed.

"There's no box," Jemma shrugged. "This is one that Fitz and I designed and made."

Skye stroked the fabric of the top that Jemma was fitting to her. "You two  _made_  this?" she asked, awed. "From scratch?"

"From scratch?" Fitz scoffed. "Are you asking if we went back roughly 13.8 billion years to an infinitesimal volume with extremely high density and temperature?"

Skye turned to Jemma in bewilderment. "Translation?"

"Fitz is just making the point that nothing man-made is genuinely made 'from scratch'."

Skye still looked baffled.

"He's referring to the Big Bang," Simmons explained patiently. "You know. The universe expanding from a singularity."

Skye's expression remained unchanged.

Jemma sighed. "A single point that was infinitely small, infinitely hot, and infinitely dense?"

Skye shook her head. "What does the Big Bang have to do with my suit?"

There was a dull thud as Fitz's head made contact with the table.

"Never mind," Simmons yielded. "Anyway, do you want to have some design input? What do you want out of your superhero suit?"

"Huh," Skye looked pensive. "Are there examples to work from other than Wonder Woman and Xena Warrior Princess? Coz I'd like to have a slightly higher level of coverage than they do."

"Oh, Skye," Jemma laughed. "As if we'd send a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent into the field so scantily clad!"

"You're sure?" Skye asked uncertainly.

"Honestly, this isn't Hollywood, Skye. This is real life. We want to keep you alive, not win you male chauvinist admirers."

"Thank goodness," Skye sighed. "'Cause I've seen the sort of situations The Avengers have had to face. I want something more like full-body armour than a bikini."

Fitz spoke up from behind the sewing machine. "So far we're working to specifications we've borrowed from Agent Hill and Agent Romanov. There's a little bit of Agent May's look thrown in for good measure."

Skye looked back at him flatly. "Those three are wearing different outfits?"

"There are nuances," Fitz replied defensively.

Skye's jaw dropped. "Hang on. You didn't sew all of their suits too, did you?"

"We took more of an advisory role for Hill and Romanov. May's ensemble is mostly her own but she wears a few of our protective garments," Simmons explained.

"Seriously, you guys!" Skye cried. "Protective suits, organic sleep drugs, air-conditioned flying safety nets, knock-out weapons, pestos, preserves – is there anything you two can't do?"

Fitz and Simmons beamed at her, quickly welcoming her back into their good graces.

"So, what unique additions can we make to personalise your suit, then?" Fitz asked cheerfully, finishing off a leg seam.

Skye shrugged. "I have no idea. Maybe Coulson might have some thoughts?"

Simmons looked at her sympathetically. "It was a shame he was too busy to chat this morning," she said quietly.

Skye nodded, dejectedly. "I know he's got some serious stuff going on. It's just that I feel like now I could actually be useful."

"You've always been useful, Skye," said Fitz kindly. "I dread to think where we might all be now if it weren't for you."

"And if it helps, we've been communicating the same thing to Coulson," Simmons commiserated. "As we've said before, we think you'll be an incredibly valuable asset to S.H.I.E.L.D. and maybe even to The Avengers."

"If they'll ever let me get off the bench," Skye moped.

"Skye," Fitz rebuked her gently. "I'm guessing that's some sort of American sporting analogy, and you know I'm not very good with those, but I'm pretty sure you've not been put on a bench of any kind."

"Yeah," said Skye brightening. "I guess it's more like I've been given the nod by the talent scouts and now I'm just waiting for my break into the big leagues."

Fitz and Jemma looked at one another in utter bewilderment.

"Right," Fitz nodded hesitantly. "Talent scouts. Big Leagues. Of course."

"Go you good thing?" Jemma added, half-heartedly raising her fist in a tentative impersonation of American pep.

"Far out, you guys," Skye looked pityingly from one to the other. "Do you think the two of you could be any more adorable?"

Fitz opened his mouth to answer then closed it again. "Was that rhetorical?" he whispered to Simmons.

"God only knows with these Americans," Simmons sighed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't take any of that personally, Americans! That's just Fitz and Simmons and their snobby British humour for you.
> 
> Anyway, I suppose it's little wonder I'm writing Fitz the way I am given that I'm rewatching Series One right now. He is the most delightful thing in T.R.A.C.K.S.!!!


	33. Chapter 33

**Mission Log – Agent Leopold Fitz**

0930 hours. 03/25/2015. Atacama Desert, Chile. 24.5000° S, 69.2500° W

Good morning, Director,

Just quickly checking in to let you know that all seems good to go for your plan to come and fetch Skye later today. She has woken in excellent spirits, she already has her new suit on and she is, as I speak, stomping impatiently around the rather confined space of  _The Haggis_ , counting down the hours until you and the rest of the team come to fetch her.

Simmons and I would like to again say how confident we feel that you will find Skye to be an enormous asset in the field. Obviously she will need guidance from you and Agent May and, as discussed, in order to enable that, we have adjusted her custom comms so that they can share whatever S.H.I.E.L.D. frequencies on which you need to communicate with her.

We completely understand your requiring us to remain out here with  _The Haggis_ , given that Skye will return this evening for those previously-discussed tests of her powers under the pressure of sleep-deprivation.

Simmons and I would like to flag some concern about the social cohesion of our little sub-team out here what with working to keep Skye awake for that many hours at a stretch but we do understand your motivations, sir, and we standby to support you in whatever you need.

Oh, thank you also for attending to my latest shopping list, we were getting somewhat low on supplies.

Looking forward to seeing you all this afternoon,

Fitz.

ooo

**Jemma's Journal**

Oh, Diary, what a staggering ten days it has been since I last declared to you that I was unequivocally in love with Fitz! It seems that we have more or less seamlessly made the transition from professional partners and best friends into the much more exciting realm of being… well, I don't know how to describe it! Together? That doesn't seem quite monumental enough – we've always been together! 'Boyfriend and girlfriend' sounds embarrassingly juvenile while 'lovers' reaches a little bit further in its connotations than is precisely accurate for our current reality. Well, whatever word we might decide to use in reference to our relationship, the simple fact is that we are in love and it is breath-takingly wonderful!

I can barely wait until this afternoon when Fitz and I can have our first few hours of being genuinely alone while Skye's off with Coulson and the rest of the team. Though the bliss of that thought is almost immediately eclipsed by what comes directly after – Skye awake for… well, for as long as she can stay awake. I suppose that for at least some of that time she'll be out with the D.W.A.R.F.s but really it's just a long and potentially painful festival of overtired Skye, with no Fitz-and-me time in sight, until maybe she crashes into unconsciousness for a full week afterwards? One can hope?

Ok, obviously that earlier statement is a ludicrous one. Fitz and I have spent hours upon hours upon hours genuinely alone before now. But somehow this is an entirely new era. And of course we don't want to go back to losing Skye for days on end – not when she's been making such phenomenal progress. Oh, my mind is a confusing place to be at the moment!

It's so odd to find myself suddenly experiencing these powerful physical reactions to Fitz – we've known each other for ten years! But just once, just for now, I am giving myself permission to gush like a pathetic fourteen year old with a crush. Brace yourself, Dear Diary – I don't think you've had to tolerate anything like this from me for quite some time now. Probably the last time you saw anything like what's about to burst out of me is when I couldn't stop journalling about my obsession with David Tennant that endured even through his Barty Crouch phase. You have been warned. At least you're only a digital tablet without a digestive system, otherwise I'd have a mess of binary vomit to clean up. Here we go:

Fitz's hands, which I must have watched working for at least one, if not two or more hours, almost every day, are suddenly the most attractive hands I have ever seen. They make me weak! And he has this new and extremely agreeable habit of pressing the palm of his hand against the small of my back when he kisses me – it's heavenly!

I can't imagine why I haven't been sitting back to admire that square jaw of his over the years. There's something about the gingery stubble on his sharply defined mandible that absolutely undoes me. Of course, I think it's safe to say I've always been a bit vulnerable to the particular cornflower blue of Fitz's irises. And now he fixes them on me in a new way, with this passionate sort of intensity that makes me melt into a puddle. And his curls! I'm not sure if I ever thought to pay much attention to Fitz's hair before. I know  _he_  doesn't pay any attention to it until it's in his eyes, but I just cannot resist weaving my fingers into those springy curls at the nape of his neck. I've noticed that it usually elicits a little moan of pleasure, so I think I'll keep it up!

I suppose I never thought Fitz was my type. I've spent so much time prattling on, in front of him even, about men who are well-formed or symmetrical or who have low body-fat percentages or other such rubbish. For some reason I just never seemed to fix my full attention on  _him_. Had I looked Fitz over with a genuinely appreciative eye for detail, I'd have noticed the breadth of his shoulders, the athleticism of his built, those inexplicably rock hard abdominals hiding under his lab coat (though I doubt he's ever done a sit-up in his life). I'm a little bit shamed by the fact that Fitz has never talked about having a 'type' – he only wants me! And I suppose everything I had thought about my type turns out to be wrong anyway – I only want him!

How are you going there, Dear Diary? Has the nausea overcome you yet? Need a nice lie down? I can't guarantee that there won't be more of that sort of thing in the future, but just for now I think I've got most of it off my chest. And I can always spend a pleasant hour or so telling Fitz how divine I think he is, just to spare you the ordeal.

I confess, we've both been a bit crotchety with Skye the last few days. Of course we love her and most of the time we very much enjoy her company. But she has made a bit of a nuisance of herself the last couple of days and some of our patience has dried up. It doesn't help that whenever she's with us, we can't just relax and be together. None of that is remotely her fault, but it's hard not to be even a little bit resentful of the person for whom you're exercising such agonising restraint!

Speaking of restraint, only a few more hours and then I have Fitz all to myself. Bliss! I hope that this mission of theirs isn't over too quickly!

ooo

**Mission Log – Agent Skye**

D.C.!

I cannot believe you are finally coming to get me for a day out! I am so psyched! And thanks for the suit ideas – I think you'll be really impressed and it feels great. I cannot wait to show you what I can do!

Anyway, enough about me.  _Something_  is going on between FitzSimmons. I think they think I don't suspect anything but I am TOTALLY on to them.

So, here's my plan. I know that today is just meant to be me going out with the team for a couple of hours but while I'm with you, let's hatch a plan to leave them alone out here for a while, huh? These two have been my surrogate mom and dad while I've been away from you and May (I know, I know. Jokes, ok? Well, not really…) and what I've learned from this experience is that, as soon as humanly possible, these two _have_  to get on with actually becoming mom and dad of some real little kids of their own. They are two of the most magnificent human beings I've ever met – after you, of course – and I just get the vibe that they would benefit from some serious FitzSimmons alone time.

Go on, get plotting. And I will absolutely reserve the right not to show you my awesome quake powers if you don't agree to go along with me on this. And then you'll be bummed, coz as I think I made clear before, I am really quite spectacular.

Anyway, cannot wait! How many hours now? Can't be that long!?

See you real soon, D.C.!

Love Skye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for Simmons' journal entry above. I wanted Fitz to get gushed about too but for some reason it all sounded a bit lame coming from her, hence all her psych-up to the gushing and her apologies that follow. Anyway, it was worth a try for Fitz's sake - I think he's a bit of a spunk...


	34. Chapter 34

The roar of The Bus touching down on the blistering desert sand that afternoon shook  _The Flying Haggis_  so violently that Fitz momentarily feared for her structural integrity.

"Was May trying to land  _on_  us?" he asked incredulously, once the sound had died down enough for him to be heard. Skye was already yanking the van door open, letting in a blast of scorching heat before it swung shut after her, and Jemma was too determined to steal a few seconds in his arms to answer.

The noise of the jet engines died right down, signalling to Fitz and Jemma that it was probably time to go, or at least time to unravel their tangled limbs, but it felt impossible to do. It took the distinctive sound of nearby footsteps crunching through the sand to actually separate them. Jemma held her hands to her face and felt her burning cheeks.

"I've got to hide!" she whispered, ducking into the bathroom and leaving Fitz to straighten his shirt and grasp about for some believable occupation. He tugged the fridge door open and frantically started pulling things out so that by the time  _The Haggis'_  door swung open, he'd cooled his own flushed face for a moment and had the added decoy of looking like he was putting things away.

Their visitor was Mack, lugging more grocery bags than a human man should have been capable of lifting. He even had an enormous drum of fresh drinking water tucked under each arm.

"Turbo!" he cried jovially, dropping the groceries and embracing his comparatively tiny friend.

"It's good to see you, Mack," Fitz enthused, returning the big man's hug.

"Where's Simmons?" he asked, casting his eyes around the camper.

"She just ducked to the loo," Fitz replied, being careful to keep his tone casual.

Mack lowered his voice to a whisper. "So, how's it going between you two? Any developments?"

Fitz shrugged happily but gave nothing away. "Things are great, Mack. This has been such a helpful mission for the two of us to have been assigned."

"Helpful?" Mack repeated, eyebrows raised.

"Yes," Fitz grinned, pointedly holding Mack's gaze. "Helpful."

"Well, I have some news," Mack changed the subject as they heard the bathroom latch turning. "Coulson's finally given me the go ahead to work on Lola. Maybe we can have a bit of a debrief over some panel beating and a beer when you guys are back."

"Sounds great," Fitz nodded. "Thought I don't think we should mention the beer to Coulson."

"Hi, Mack," Simmons sang cheerily as she emerged from the tiny bathroom, her face returned to its usual peaches and cream complexion. Fitz found himself having to turn away from Mack to hide his huge involuntary grin at her re-appearance.

"Hey," Mack replied shortly, not seeming all that keen to engage her in conversation. "Mission going ok?" he enquired politely.

"We've been having a really lovely time," she gushed, and Fitz momentarily wondered if she might have given too much away until he heard her continue. "Makes _such_  a nice change from daily fearing for our lives."

Mack chuckled and peace seemed to be restored between them.

"How is everyone?" Simmons asked.

"Come and see for yourself," Mack replied, his giant fist already wrapped around the door handle. "Everyone's looking forward to catching up with you two, even if we only have a few minutes."

"Let me help Fitz get the groceries away and we'll be right there," she agreed.

Mack disappeared down the steps and the door swung back behind him.

Alone once more, Jemma raised her hands defensively as Fitz stepped meaningfully towards her. "No way," she said laughing. "Do you know how much of our water I must have used getting my face back to a normal colour? You are not touching me again until everyone's left!"

Fitz gave her a pleading look.

"Mack said they only had a few minutes before they had to go," she sighed, trying to sound exasperated. "Come on! Let's at least get the cold things in the fridge, then we can nip over and say a quick hi before they leave us all alone for a few hours."

"All alone," Fitz repeated happily, bending down to grab the perishable items from the bags on the floor. He passed things up to Jemma who packed them all expertly Tetris-like into the tiny fridge.

"Done." She slammed the fridge door and spun herself into Fitz's arms, kissing him lightly on the cheek. "I love you, Fitz," she whispered into his ear. "Ok, let's go!"

"Now?" he asked despairingly.

"Come on!" she cried, grabbing his hand and yanking him out the door.

The heat of the desert made them feel as if they were trying to walk through a wall. Fitz found himself thankful that May had landed The Bus so close after all. Jemma dropped his hand with a sad smile.

"Just a few minutes," she reminded him as they approached the cargo door.

The glass doors closed behind them and it took a few seconds for their bodies to register the cool of the plane.

"Oh, hey you two," Bobbi called. "Everyone's upstairs in the lounge with Skye. I'm just heading up to join them now." As she drew nearer she and Jemma exchanged a brief embrace leaving Fitz to lead the way.

"You look like a happy woman," Bobbi whispered to the scientist. "Am I right?"

Jemma nodded shyly.

"Ok," Bobbi laughed, looking searchingly at Simmons' face. "I'm retracting 'happy' and replacing it with 'ecstatic'!"

Jemma felt herself blushing.

"I'm so thrilled for you two."

"But no one knows," Jemma cautioned. "Please don't say anything."

"I won't  _say_  anything," Bobbi shook her head. "But I wouldn't be too sure that nobody knows. This  _is_  a spy plane remember?"

When they got upstairs, it was clear that Skye was in her element. Surrounded by all the people she loved and trusted, with a custom-made super suit to show off and some serious personal development to share, the young agent was euphoric.

She had one arm linked through Coulson's as she chattered away at Hunter and Mack, and even May was looking on with a small smile on her face.

"FitzSimmons!" Coulson announced, gently disengaging himself from Skye and walking over to warmly shake hands with each of them. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "Thank you to both of you. It's so clear that you've been taking such good care of Skye. She has obviously flourished on your mission and I'm so grateful to you both for all you've done for her."

"It's been no trouble, honestly" replied Fitz, at exactly the same time that Simmons was saying, "It's been an honour, sir."

Hunter wandered over and greeted them enthusiastically, receiving a vengeful punch in the arm from Jemma for the mission log protocols, and May gave them each a friendly nod.

"I wish we all had time for a drink!" Bobbi moaned, as May announced it'd be wheels up in ten and FitzSimmons farewelled everyone only a few moments after they started greeting them.

"Take care, Skye," Simmons said, as their newest superhero pulled her into a hug. "Can't wait to hear how it all goes!"

Fitz was equally grasped into Skye's embrace. "Get Coulson to take some photos for us, okay?"

Skye scoffed. "I'll make sure I mention it," she laughed. "Keep an eye on his Insta feed!"

"Now are you two sure you're ok to hold the fort out here until we bring Skye back tonight?" Coulson checked. "I'm just hesitant to leave the camper out here unattended, what with all S.H.I.E.L.D.'s state-of-the-art equipment on board. We don't have much of that high-end stuff anymore and  _The Haggis_  has proven herself to be a highly valuable asset."

"I agree, sir," Simmons nodded emphatically. "We'd hate for anything to happen to her."

"We are absolutely ok to stand guard until you're ready to move her out of here," Fitz agreed.

"I've got some further analysis I can be getting on with anyway," Simmons said.

"And I'm working on some new blueprints so it'll be nice to have a bit of quiet time," Fitz added.

"Great," Coulson affirmed. "Well, we'd better get going but I guess we'll see you two in a little while."

"Any idea how long, sir?" Simmons asked.

"Sorry to be so vague, Simmons. We're investigating a possible 084 development right here on Chilean soil. It may turn out to be a bust, but if the little bit of intelligence we have proves to be accurate, Skye's involvement could make all the difference." Coulson shrugged. "I guess that means we could be back in half an hour or we could be away most of the night."

"Right," she nodded, trying not to sound too disappointed about the possibility of only half an hour.

"We'll be in touch," he assured them as he walked back down the stairs with them towards the cargo hold.

The glass doors slid open creating the sensation that the air around them had just been set on fire. FitzSimmons braced themselves and stepped out into it, turning to wave a last goodbye to Coulson who raised a hand in farewell as the doors slid shut behind them. They staggered down the cargo ramp and jogged across the few metres of baking sand to take shelter in  _The Haggis_  before May started up the engines.

"Just in case we've only got half an hour…" Fitz panted.

"… Shut up and kiss me," Jemma concluded breathlessly, yanking the bed down from the wall and falling back onto it, pulling Fitz down with her.


	35. Chapter 35

Jemma sat at the little table, head down, tea cup in hand, while Fitz added the finishing touches to a salad of lentils, beetroot, feta cheese and fresh herbs for their evening meal. Significantly more than half-an-hour had passed since the team had left and seeing as FitzSimmons weren't all that keen to be busted just yet, they'd curtailed their make-out session at roughly the three hour mark, anticipating their friends' return at any moment.

"Fitz?" she said thoughtfully. "I've just been doing some research…"

"Mmm?"

"Well, you know that Dickinson poem?"

He grinned. "I happen to know it fairly well, yes."

Jemma looked up at him, noticeably pink in the face. "Well, neither of us are English scholars…"

"No, but we're not morons."

"We may not be morons but it  _is_  just possible that we may have missed a layer of meaning in the poem."

"It's about storms at sea, right?" Fitz put on his best English Professor voice. "The persona uses the central metaphor of wind and storms to describe the challenges of navigating one's way through life. But, as resonates so powerfully with me, and presumably with you, Dr Simmons – having found her heart's home, the persona no longer needs to seek external guidance as might be found in compass and map. Rather, she knows that all she needs is to ultimately be joined to the one she loves. Presumably the tone of unfulfilled longing stems from the fact that Dickinson was known to be a single woman. Perhaps there was someone she longed for but, so far as we know, they were never ultimately united."

Jemma sighed. "According to what I've been reading just now, that's what kids in high school English would probably call the 'lame' reading of the poem."

Fitz looked a bit put out. He walked over and plonked himself next to her on the bench, arms folded across his chest. "Well, enlighten me then. What's the non-lame reading?"

"It may assist you to know that the archaic connotations of the word 'luxury' were 'excess' and, more specifically, 'lust'."

"Oh. So, not 'wild' as in stormy?

"No."

"Ohh. 'Wild' as in…"

"Untamed, uncontrolled, unchecked, extreme."

"Riiight. I was reading  _Were I with thee, wild nights would be our luxury!_  to mean that the lovers could enjoy the end of the tumult, upheaval and uncertainty of life. That even in the face of storms and windy nights…" He sought her eyes. "…Even in storms at sea, which for us would probably be more terrifying than for most other people, we would have one another to take comfort in. Those stormy nights would be robbed of their terror. Those nights, or more figuratively speaking, those tumultuous times in life, wouldn't be able to shake the  _heart in port_ , not the heart that was ultimately moored safely in the harbour of the lover's love. Instead they could be seasons of contentment and calm and peace." He reached for her hand. "That sounds like the definition of luxury to me."

Jemma intertwined her fingers with his. "Don't get me wrong, _I_  like that reading of the poem. As you say, Dr Fitz, it absolutely resonates with me. I  _do_  feel utterly unafraid to venture out into the rest of my life knowing that whatever I face, I face together with you. And I love the idea of weathering the storms around us, secure and content in one another."

He leaned over and kissed her tenderly then resumed his thinking posture. "But the high school kids would say that's lame?"

"Well, not just the high school kids. Even their teachers would probably admit that that's the sanitised reading. They'd say instead that it's actually a poem about sexual desire and passion."

"Fancy that. A high school English teacher pointing out sexual connotations? Surely  _that_  never happens," Fitz commented sarcastically. "Anyway, I guess that means that last stanza…?"

"Yes," she nodded, eyebrows raised. "There's a bit of a double meaning there…"

Fitz's ears turned red. "Emily Dickinson," he whistled under his breath. "Who'd have thought?"

"Fitz," Jemma shuffled a little closer to him winding her arms around his neck. "One day," she whispered into his ear, "Hopefully one day soon, this poem can have _those_  layers of meaning for us too."

The redness of his ears spread across his cheeks and down his neck. When he could bring himself to speak, his voice sounded distinctly husky. "Wild nights, eh?" he breathed. "Regardless of the weather."

She sighed, her smile enchanting. "Wild nights will be our  _luxury_."

He pulled Jemma roughly onto his lap and claimed her lips with his, eliciting a passionate response.

But just a few minutes later, he forced himself to break away. "Um, Jem?" he said breathlessly. "This isn't that moment, is it?"

"No, you're right," she agreed quickly, sliding off his lap and straightening her hair and top. "Not with the team arriving any minute."

"Dinner then?" he suggested, a little too brightly.

She nodded vigorously. "Dinner. Yes. Looks delicious."

ooo

Just as they laid down their cutlery at the end of the meal, a S.H.I.E.L.D. video call notification popped up on their overhead screen. Fitz tapped at his device and Coulson's face appeared above them.

"Sir?" Jemma greeted him, unable to hide her surprise. "We were expecting to hear The Bus touching down outside any moment now."

"Sorry, FitzSimmons," Coulson replied. "We should have been in communication earlier."

"Is everything alright, sir?" Fitz asked, concerned. "Is Skye ok?"

"Skye is proving to be a phenomenal asset." Coulson grinned. "You two were absolutely right. The 084 situation we stumbled into could have gone very badly south if it weren't for her. It was Raina."

Jemma gasped. "Does Raina have significant power?" she asked.

Coulson nodded. "She is a terrifying force, and she's fuelled by bitterness. A scary combination."

Fitz and Jemma nodded, wide-eyed.

"But Skye absolutely neutralised her," Coulson went on. "In fact, thanks to Skye, we were able to capture Raina and, as we speak, we have her contained on board The Bus."

"That's wonderful news, sir," Jemma breathed.

"We're currently forty thousand feet above the South Pacific Ocean on route to a new S.H.I.E.L.D. containment facility that Fury has been working covertly to establish in place of The Fridge and The Sandbox. Skye is accompanying us and we're going to stand guard over Raina there until we're satisfied that we'll be leaving her in capable hands. We need to know there's no risk of whatever's left of H.Y.D.R.A. or anyone else infiltrating the compound before we can entrust Raina into anything other than our own cell."

"Of course, sir," Fitz nodded.

"I'm sorry to say this, FitzSimmons," Coulson went on. "I think you two may be alone out there for a fortnight or so before we can get back there to get you."

Jemma grabbed Fitz's hand under the table and the two of them had to work incredibly hard to school their features.

"We understand completely, sir," Jemma agreed solemnly. "Of course securing Raina is the most important task."

"I've arranged for you two to be wired a sum of money that will allow you to make alternative accommodation arrangements for yourselves and secure storage arrangements for  _The Haggis_  if you feel the need. The only challenge you'll face in order to be able to do that is the drive out of the Atacama Desert. It might be a bit of an ordeal."

Fitz shook his head. "Don't worry about us, sir. We're up to the challenge. Anyway, there's no rush for us to leave. The supplies you brought us today will easily last the fortnight, especially now that there's only the two of us to feed. And we hadn't even gotten through half of our water supply before Mack topped us up this afternoon. We'll be more than alright. In fact," Fitz went on, furtively sliding his hand onto Jemma's upper thigh, "I think one could say, sir, that we'll be living in luxury."

"I appreciate your understanding, FitzSimmons," Coulson responded. "Skye was emphatic in her certainty that two of you would be ok with these less-than-ideal circumstances and I'm really grateful to see that she was right. We'll be difficult to get hold of for the next week or so but we'll try to be in touch before the fortnight is out."

"Roger that, sir," Jemma replied, fighting to contain her excitement.

Coulson gave them a tight-lipped smile and the screen went blank.

ooo

High above the clouds, Skye did a little dance of celebration in the middle of Coulson's airborne office. Coulson shook his head.

"Honestly, Skye," he scolded. "Anyone would think you went to all the trouble of taking down this hostile threat just so that FitzSimmons could have a romantic getaway!"

"I don't mind admitting that I drew my inspiration from a range of different sources," Skye rejoined triumphantly. "But I  _never_  imagined I could swing them two whole weeks alone!"

"At  _least_  two weeks," Coulson replied. "Who knows how long it'll be before we feel certain that Raina's secure?"

Skye clapped her hands gleefully. "Being a superhero is SO cool!"

ooo

Fitz's arms were around Jemma's waist and his lips were against her throat before she was even sure that Coulson's call had terminated.

"Stop!" she cried, in a manner that made him jump back, hands where she could see them. His eyes looked a little panicked.

"Fitz," she smiled sweetly at him, getting to her feet. "Before we left, I must have had a little premonition of things between us going in this direction."

"You don't believe in premonitions," Fitz retorted, remaining seated. "Just like you don't believe in telekinesis or any other psychic ability."

"Well," she replied. "Whatever it was, it prompted me to anticipate that there might be an occasion on which I might want to look a little bit special for you and that anticipation prompted me to pack accordingly."

Fitz's eyes narrowed. "What kind of occasion?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "For some reason I got it into my head that we might find ourselves on some sort of date."

"A date," he repeated. "In the middle of the desert."

"I know," she shook her head. "Senseless. Irrational. And yet, here we are!"

Fitz remembered back to the blind panic of preparation before they left the base. "What on earth prompted you to even imagine it?"

"It was when I overheard you talking to Mack. A lot of things must have clicked into place that day without me fully processing them."

"What was this amazing thing I said that precipitated not only that awesome night of Chinese and Sherlock but also you foreseeing  _this_?" Fitz asked, curiously, waving his hands back and forth between them to indicate the new direction of their relationship.

"Actually, you said  _three_  things that afternoon," Jemma corrected him. "And you can tell how significant they were for me to hear because I can practically quote them back to you verbatim."

"Go on then," Fitz prompted.

"Firstly, you said that you wanted to be a good man, and good men had to respect a woman's right  _not_  to want to be with them."

"That really worked for you, eh?" Fitz asked incredulously. "Not exactly romantic!"

"I know," Jemma nodded. "But I needed to hear you say it." She suddenly beamed at him. " _Then_  you said that I was the most precious person in the entire world to you."

"And I meant every word," he shrugged, grinning. "And the third thing?"

"You said you wished you could reassure me that you wouldn't be making any more love confessions."

Fitz looked confused. "The fact that I said I  _wouldn't_  be telling you I loved you, made you think that you might love me?"

"Well, you did go on to say something hopeful about the future. You used the words 'if she falls in love with me the way that I'm in love with her,'" she smiled shyly at him. "I liked that a lot."

"Ahem," replied Fitz, cheekily. "Then I believe I counted  _four_  fabulous things I apparently said when I had no idea you could hear me."

" _And_  there's the fact that you didn't know I was listening," Jemma added. "That makes it all even better."

"And somehow, all of this adds up to you packing a fancy outfit?" he asked.

"Somehow," she laughed. "Yes. It does"

"Jem," Fitz sighed, winding his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her stomach and gazing up at her. "As far as I'm concerned, you look like a goddess in my Proclaimers t-shirt and some old pyjama pants."

She stroked his face affectionately, winding one finger into the curls at his temple. "But say I had something really lovely to put on that I'd packed just for you…"

He smiled in spite of himself. "I suppose that doesn't sound too bad."

"Because of course," she added brazenly, "I'm only thinking of putting it on so that you can enjoy taking it off…"

Fitz barely survived the coughing fit that Jemma's provocation induced.

ooo

The first time, under a sea of brilliant stars, on the roof of a campervan in the middle of nowhere, Fitz fell in adoration onto his knees at Jemma's feet and, from that vantage point, explored this new and wonderful territory in worshipful ecstasy.

All that night they wrote their love across one another's bodies with a tender urgency and with mutual tears of happiness.

When at last they lay still, Jemma rested her head against Fitz's chest to listen to the hammering of his heart.

"Leo," she sighed contentedly, one finger idly tracing the muscular contours of his bare torso.

He smiled at the galaxies above, gently stroking her dark hair back from her glistening forehead. "You've never called me just  _Leo_  before."

"I know," she whispered. "It just felt like the right occasion to try it out."

He sought her gaze. "I like that you saved it 'til now." He grinned cheekily. "I feel like maybe I might have earned it."

"Oh, Leo," Jemma nodded emphatically, her soft cheek rubbing pleasantly against his shoulder. "You  _definitely_  did."


	36. Chapter 36

After a week of luxuriating in  _The Haggis_ , relishing some much-needed time alone, FitzSimmons thought they'd take this rare opportunity to explore Chile. Not only did they survive the drive south from the Atacama to the beautiful Chilean city of Valparaíso, they thoroughly enjoyed it. They took shifts, alternately driving and navigating – a test that throughout history has been the undoing of many a fledgling relationship. But Fitz and Jemma's love was one unperturbed by bickering – they'd already had years to perfect the fond squabbling best observed in the homes of elderly co-dependent spouses over biscuits and daytime television.

They stopped and drank tea while they watched the sunset over the gently undulating desert hills of Moon Valley. They marvelled at the flamingos grazing around the ultramarine-blue lagoons of the Atacama Salt Lake. They bathed in blissful Puritama thermal baths. And each night, finding a remote place to stop, they lay in one another's arms on the roof of  _The Haggis_  and viewed the galaxies through the lens of the world's clearest skies. But despite the fact that they were scientists, and despite the fact that the Atacama Desert provided the absolute finest viewing platform in the world for the heavens above, some nights, of course, they were far too deeply captivated by one another to even look up.

Arriving in Valparaíso at last, they were charmed by the densely packed and brightly coloured hillside buildings that made up the bustling sea port.

"It looks a bit like the Lego towns I used to make when I was a kid," laughed Fitz.

"And every aspirational Pinterest travel board I've ever seen," muttered Jemma. "But can you believe we're actually  _here_ , not just pathetically salivating over other people's photos?"

While Fitz took the wheel, Jemma took up her device and investigated the details of Coulson's wire. It was a  _significant_  amount of money. The bank transfer contained a short message from the director which Simmons read aloud:

_FitzSimmons,_

_This sum is to allow you to acquire a long-term vehicle vault for_ The Haggis _through_ Banco Santander _. S.H.I.E.L.D. has found their service to be perfectly satisfactory in the past. It should also suffice for some extremely comfortable accommodation, vehicle hire, all food and entertainment, any additional clothing or equipment you may require and, of course, your travel costs to return to base. Skye has a theory that the two of you may like to take a short leave of absence. Consequently, I will expect you back on base in one month. Additionally, in consultation with our Director Emeritus, it has been decided that the pair of you are owed some compensation for your recent trauma. Due to Fitz's longer lasting challenges, his sum is considerably larger._

_If Skye's hunch is right, may I recommend that you investigate Valparaíso's_ Palacio Astoreca _? They have some magnificent suites. And make sure you try their wild albacore sashimi with pea tendril salad and melon cilantro vinaigrette – it's to die for. If, on the other hand, Skye's hunch is misguided, forget I said anything and return to base as soon as convenient._

_Thanks again for your care of Skye,_

_Coulson_

"How much is it, Jemma?" Fitz asked, pulling up at traffic lights.

Jemma didn't speak, she simply turned the screen and showed him the figure, her wide eyes peeking over the top of the case.

Fitz gave a low whistle. "Well," he shrugged. "Let's get this old girl settled into  _el banco_ , hire ourselves something a little bit sporty and then fire up the GPS and get directions to Coulson's hotel."

"Really?" she asked, excited. "I just Googled it. It's a castle!"

"You didn't pick that up from the  _Palacio_?" he asked, laughing.

"My high school Spanish is somewhat rusty," she admitted.

"I'm impressed you picked up any high school Spanish given that you skipped high school entirely on your way to Oxford," Fitz suggested. "Anyway, I have no idea how much S.H.I.E.L.D.'s been paying me over the years – I've never had any time to spend it," he reached over and took her hand. "But now I suddenly have a month's leave in exotic South America with the unparalleled woman of my dreams."

"Sounds like we have Skye to thank for that," Jemma observed. "We obviously weren't as covert as we thought we were."

"Well, I suppose she is training to be a sort of spy," Fitz shrugged. "And as the practically-adopted daughter of the top dog, if she wants to use her influence to swing us a holiday, who are we to argue?"

Jemma nodded. "Though I guess we can rely on Skye to have ensured that  _everyone_  now knows about us."

Fitz leaned over to kiss her. "Let them know," he grinned. "When we get back, it's going to be all I can do not to go shouting it from the rooftops!"

ooo

Fitz and Jemma wandered wide-eyed into their sumptuous suite. The views over the city and ocean were breathtaking.

"Coulson has wonderful taste," Jemma breathed, stepping out into the warm salty breeze that stirred the potted palms on their large private balcony.

Fitz followed her out a moment later and stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

" _Expensive_  taste," she added. "But wonderful."

"Have you seen the bath?" Fitz asked. "It's the size of a Scottish loch."

"Mmmm," Jemma mused. "I think a long hot bath is just what I need." She turned her head to find Fitz's eyes. "Join me?"

He nodded vigorously.

ooo

Later that evening, clad in the gauzy knee-length emerald-green gown and bronze sandals that Fitz had only let her wear for a short time a few nights previously, Jemma explored the winding alleys and walkways of Valparaíso. Fitz followed not far behind, so mesmerised by the vision of loveliness ahead of him that he kept tripping himself up. Occasionally, she would turn to him to point out a sight that pleased her or to make a witty comment or astute observation. On one level, he took it all in – gave the right answers, even asked intelligent questions. But there was another level on which, despite the occasional stubbed toe, he felt as if he floated, his feet several inches from the surface of the Earth.

Jemma emerged from an unassuming alley to a staggering view of the vibrant city and the ocean below, all abruptly laid out at her feet.

"Leo," she gasped. "Look at this!"

Oddly, for such a busy city, in the little square into which they'd stumbled there was not another soul to be seen. He followed her gaze to the sights below but judged them to be relatively unimpressive next to his view of her.

Pushing back his perpetual flood of conscious thought, Fitz found himself acting on instinct. He took each of Jemma's hands in his and held them gently as they hung relaxedly by her sides. She turned her face from the spectacle below and smiled at him, radiant.

"Jem?" he whispered huskily, summoning the courage of William Wallace from deep within his highland veins. "Could I be your husband? Would you be my wife?"

The tears sprang to her eyes and she flew at him with kisses in reply.

Overjoyed, he foraged about in his pocket and produced a crumpled scrap of paper. On it was his latest sketch of the ring.

"I'm still in the design phase, but one day soon, I hope to be able to give you something that might look a bit like this," he offered, somewhat apologetically. "Mum's got an enormous stone of my Nan's tucked away in a drawer at home." He gently touched the full skirt of Jemma's dress and rubbed the fabric between his fingers. "At least I can be sure you'll like the colour."

Jemma lifted the hand that held the sketch briefly to her lips. "You'll make a ring for me yourself?" she asked.

"With my bare hands," he nodded, grinning. "Well, within reason."

"It still counts if you make the tools with your bare hands, remember?" she laughed, her eyes shining. Suddenly, she grew earnest. "Leo, I can wait for the ring. But I don't want to wait any longer to make you  _really_  mine." She squeezed his hand. "What if we just got married here?"

"We can do that?" Fitz's face looked boyish in his excitement. "We can just get married?"

Jemma shrugged. "I don't see why not! We'll just drop by the British Embassy in Santiago on our way back to base to make everything official. I remember reading an article that said British Embassies were a bit like Las Vegas chapels anyway. Presumably with less Elvis impersonators."

"So," he said softly. "It looks like this leave of absence has suddenly become our honeymoon."

"If that's the case, Leo," she whispered seductively in reply, "You better take me back to that enormous bed of ours right this instant."

"Whatever you say, Simmons!" he cried.

Without warning, he lifted her clear off the ground, scooping her into his arms so that her bronze sandals glinted in the very last light of the fading day. She let out a shriek of laughter as Fitz broke into a brisk jog heading in what he hoped was the direction of their hotel.


	37. Chapter 37

Jemma had woken early to find the sun streaming in through the double doors to their balcony. Despite the enormity of the vast hotel bed, their two bodies were so tightly entangled with one another's that they might as well have been inside the one sleeping bag. Fitz snored gently against her and for a moment she lay still to take in his serene expression and watch the rise and fall of his bare chest in amongst the rumple of gleaming white sheets.

She gently extricated herself from his embrace and got silently to her feet. She found Fitz's navy shirt exactly where she had slid it off his shoulders and let it fall to the gleaming floorboards the night before. She picked it up and slipped it over her bare form, calling to mind every film scene in which she'd seen something similar done. Those women always seemed to make it look like they gave it no thought at all, but given that she'd always treasured the privilege of donning Fitz's soft old Proclaimers t-shirt, this felt monumental. She watched him sleep for a lingering moment as she did up the buttons and resolved to try and start every future day by slipping Fitz's shirt from the day before over her naked body and being grateful that he was hers, that they could share this blissful intimacy.

Padding out onto the balcony, the untapped city seemed to beckon to her from below. She quietly closed all the blinds to darken the room so that Fitz could sleep on and then scrawled him a note on the hotel stationery. She placed it in an unmissable spot on the pillows and placed his phone on top of it so that he wouldn't even have to get out of bed to find her. She unbuttoned his shirt with a contented sigh, laying it neatly over the back of a chair and shimmied into a pair of denim shorts and red t-shirt. Grabbing her straw trilby and sunglasses she made sure to slide her phone and wallet into her pocket. She quickly brushed her teeth and eased on her tan leather sandals before slipping out of the room, swinging the  _Do Not Disturb_  sign onto the door handle.

Stepping out of the palatial hotel, Jemma felt the unique thrill of being alone and free in an unknown city. And she had a few specific goals for the morning that she wanted to achieve. Firstly, she wanted to find a dress. Secondly, she wanted to find a church. Thirdly, she wanted to buy a specific item she'd mentioned to Fitz. And then, if after that she still had time, she wanted to buy the tackiest and most outrageous South American souvenir she could find as a gift for Skye.

At least with the church she had a lead. She remembered picking up a National Geographic years before in the dentist's waiting room and reading about the San Francisco church of Valparaíso, affectionately known as  _Pancho_. It had come back to her because of one fact that seemed to resonate with her and Fitz and Emily Dickinson. The church had been built by the Franciscan community with construction ending in 1846. But right up until the early 20th century, because it was the first recognisable sight of the city, the spire of the church had served as a lighthouse to vessels on the ocean. She loved the idea that she and Fitz would commit themselves to one another under a beacon of safety to ships at sea. For them it just seemed right.

As for the dress, she felt less certain, though she had the vaguest image in her mind of the Chilean national costume – a fitted bodice, puffed sleeves and swathes of full, petticoated skirts that fell to just below the knee. She imagined it might be difficult to find in a traditional white but she was feeling extremely open-minded.

The air felt close but it was a dry heat and so she moved through the shaded alleys and paved streets quite comfortably. At last, a cobbled street she stumbled upon in the historic quarter looked extremely promising, one dress shop after another with strings of exactly the dresses she envisioned festooned across the shopfronts.

One particular dress caught her eye – canary yellow in colour with a subtle matching lace around the square neckline, sleeves and frothy hem. It sang to her.  _And_ , she thought to herself,  _If I can drag Fitz out of the bedroom and down to the beach, by the time I actually put it on for him, I might even be able to have a little bit of a sun kissed glow_. She shook her head, exasperated with herself. It was appalling that an entire lifetime in science failed to inoculate her against the British obsession with tanning. However, it didn't stop her from spending the next hour shopping for just the right swimsuit.

ooo

Fitz woke and found himself alone in their enormous bed. He stretched his shoulders, raising his arms above his head and, in doing so, unexpectedly brushed his knuckles against a piece of fancy parchment-weight paper emblazoned with the logo of the hotel. He raised himself up on one elbow to see what it was all about.

In Jemma's unmistakeable hand he read:

_Wild nights, Leo, my love. Wild nights! And, in the name of securing us a future of such perpetual luxury, I'm off to find the perfect spot and the perfect frock in which I can make you mine for keeps. Sleep in, order breakfast, read the paper, go out exploring – enjoy the next few hours without me (if you can!) but don't forget your phone and I'll call you with somewhere to meet me for lunch when I'm done. Oh, and, so that you can mentally prepare yourself, while I'm out, I'm going to buy my first ever bikini in an attempt to lure you down to the beach with me. Ooh la la!_

Fitz collapsed back against his pillow with an ecstatic grin on his face. Jemma had made it clear she was relishing their newfound intimacy just as much as he was, but the note also held the promise of an extremely appealing afternoon at the seaside. He wiled away a pleasant hour just dozing and daydreaming – imagining, amongst other things, a sultry bikini-clad Jemma walking towards him across shimmering sand.

He smiled around the suite at all the unmistakeable evidence that he shared it with a lover. Jemma's gown once again lay in an emerald-green puddle on the floor, her intriguingly lacy underwear hung draped over the bedhead and the room seemed full of the intoxicating scent of her. But before long, Fitz being Fitz, his stomach made its insistent and significant requirements known. He staggered to his feet, pulled his last clean pair of shorts out of his bag and threw a pale blue button-down shirt over the top, rolling his sleeves back to the elbow.

He hadn't yet said it aloud to Jemma but from the minute they'd driven into the urban areas of Chile, Fitz had been unable to dismiss two persistent cravings that he'd been introduced to since crossing the pond – empanadas and churros. If he'd experienced good empanadas and churros in the United States, surely the authentic article would be amazing. Tucking his phone and wallet carefully into his pocket and being sure to grab the keys to their room, Fitz the hunter-gatherer went out in pursuit.


	38. Chapter 38

For the rest of his charmed life, despite many very happy days, Fitz would struggle to recall a happier one. Jemma had stumbled across him in the street outside their hotel, merrily feeding his face with perfect churros that dripped with manjar caramel. She'd joined him for brunch and then led him back to the room, once they'd had their fill, to try on for him the not-insignificant range of bikinis she'd purchased.

Fitz made certain not to be too hasty in choosing his favourite. He took his responsibilities very seriously, insisting on helping her out of each swimsuit she modelled. Consequently, by the time they left the room for the beach, it was fairly late in the afternoon.

Fitz followed Jemma down the paved streets, smiling to himself at the strappy bow on the nape of her neck that held up her bikini. He had carried out extremely thorough testing of the garment's structural integrity as would be the responsibility of any serious-minded engineer.

On the way to the beach she'd led him past  _Pancho_ , the church in which, that very evening, they would promise themselves to one another forever. He had wept when she told him why she'd chosen that church, and from that moment, the tears were right behind his eyes, threatening to spill out at every sign of the future bliss he couldn't be sure he deserved. But he knew one thing – Jemma's happiness was his highest goal and she had inexplicably chosen  _him_  in order to be happy. Therefore, questions of whether or not he could ever deserve her fell away. He'd just have to make sure that he would live up to being all that he felt she deserved.

At the beach, the white sand was like powder and the water sparkled with the clarity of an internally flawless diamond. The two pasty British citizens slathered sunscreen across one another's backs and shoulders and then waded into water the temperature of a bath. Fitz had not been near the ocean since the day that Jemma had had to pull him out of it but it didn't even occur to him to remember that trauma. Instead, he was consumed by the exciting sensation of holding Jemma against him in the water and thanked his lucky stars that she had saved up a lifetime's worth of bikini-wearing just for him.

When the temptation to remove one another's already-minimal coverage got too strong, they splashed their way out of the sea and practically jogged back towards the hotel. After a long and satisfying hot bath, the time was drawing near for them to make their vows.

Jemma had selected a slim-fitting white collared shirt for Fitz to wear over his navy trousers and, still wrapped in her towel, after a tender kiss, she sent him out towards the church to await her arrival. He meandered along, eyes on the tall spire that beckoned him towards it from blocks away, just as it would have led ships to safety in the past, and felt the worthy weight of what he was about to do.

Having attended one too many vague and fuzzy civil ceremonies presided over by nauseatingly gushing celebrants, Fitz and Jemma had happily agreed to the Chilean priest's sole English-language offer of the 1662 Solemnisation of Matrimony. Fitz didn't mind a few thees and thous now and again and, rather than feeling any desperate need to be original, he liked the idea of taking on the traditional mantle of a groom making vows to his bride just as many millions of men had done before him. Another of the priests at  _Pancho_  had agreed to witness their marriage and even kindly gifted them with two very simple silver bands with which they could complete the service.

Fitz walked down the aisle of the empty church and felt the age and gravitas of the building. Though he and Jemma had taken what they believed to be the only reasonable position for a truly open and sceptical scientific mind – that of agnosticism – something about the direction his life had so recently taken was lifting his sights to the heavens and the mysteries beyond. Agnosticism could never quite rule out the possibility of a loving creator and sustainer and the existence of something as magnificent as Jemma provided some striking supporting evidence.

He took his place at the sanctuary and after successfully greeting and introducing himself to both priests in English despite the barriers of thick accents on both sides, he sat down on the first wooden pew to wait. Jemma didn't keep him waiting long.

Smiling, the second priest cast his eyes towards the back of the church and pressed play on the church's archaic looking sound system. Fitz got to his feet and scanned the church. The nave resounded with the rich brass of Joaquín Rodrigo's  _Concierto de Aranjuez_  but, as yet, Fitz couldn't see what the priest had obviously spotted. As the piece grew near its climax, Jemma appeared from behind the large front doors of the church, stunning in her simple yellow gown. In her hands she held a small posy of coral-coloured carnations interspersed with lilac dahlias and pink and white peonies, and sprays of tiny white Chilean teaberries were wound into her intricate loose braid. Her face was pure sunshine.

The tears that had been so close to the surface spilled over once more and Fitz stood simultaneously beaming and openly weeping as he watched his bride walk without hesitation down the aisle towards him, smiling beatifically. She drew nearer and he reached for her hand, holding it to his lips and placing a soft kiss on her knuckles as she took her place next to him.

The presiding priest's voice rang out in his heavily-accented archaic English. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God to join together this man, Leopold, and this woman, Jemma, in holy matrimony; which is an honourable estate, instituted of God in the time of man's innocency, signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his Church; which holy estate Christ adorned and beautified with his presence, and the first miracle that he wrought, in Cana of Galilee: and therefore is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly; but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God; duly considering the causes for which matrimony was ordained."

He paused, smiling at each of them, then indicated to Fitz. "Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?"

Fitz could hear his voice quavering with emotion. "I will."

The priest turned his eyes on Jemma. "Wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love him, and comfort him, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?"

Jemma beamed at Fitz, the tears now sparkling in her eyes too. "I will."

The priest reached for Jemma's right hand and led her to place it into Fitz's, indicating to him to repeat the vow as prompted.

Fitz sought Jemma's eyes and held them as he made his solemn promises. "I, Leopold, take thee, Jemma, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth."

The priest now took Fitz's right hand and placed it in Jemma's. She similarly followed his prompting, holding Fitz's gaze, her voice husky. "I, Jemma _,_  take thee, Fitz _,_  to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth."

The second priest reached out and carefully placed the two silver bands into the centre of the prayer book that the first priest held. Fitz took the smaller of the rings and slid it carefully onto the fourth finger of Jemma's left hand.

He followed the priest's prompting to declare to his bride, "With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

Jemma, her tears now falling freely, took up the remaining band and slid it onto Fitz's ring finger.

Likewise, she vowed, "With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

The priest indicated for them both to kneel and with one hand held over their heads, he prayed, "O Eternal God, Creator and Preserver of all mankind, Giver of all spiritual grace, the Author of everlasting life; Send thy blessing upon these thy servants, this man and this woman, whom we bless in thy name; that, as Isaac and Rebecca lived faithfully together, so these persons may surely perform and keep the vow and covenant betwixt them made, whereof these rings given and received are a token and pledge, and may they ever remain in perfect love and peace together, and live according to thy laws; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen."

Then with a sincere solemnity, the priest took up each of their right hands, joined them together and held their joined hands in his.

He pronounced over them, "Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder."

The priest indicated that they could stand, declaring to their sole witness and the imaginary congregation in the body of the church, "Forasmuch as Leopold and Jemma have consented together in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other, and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by joining of hands; I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together, In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

The priest leaned forward and, despite centuries of tradition, addressed his whisper to Jemma, "Kiss him, Señora! He is yours!"

She turned to face her shiny new husband, and reached up to gently stroke the gleaming tear-tracks on his cheeks with the tips of her fingers. Fitz's face was beginning to ache but there wasn't a thing in the world that could have stopped him smiling, especially not as his now wife stood on tiptoe to place the softest and sweetest of kisses on his lips. She went to draw back, conscious of their celibate audience, but to Fitz it felt just a little too chaste. He pulled her back against him and kissed her deeply, passionately, until the holy father marrying them blushed and benevolently turned his face away. His colleague laughed, pulled out his smart phone and snapped a candid photo.

At last, smiling warmly at the newly minted family before him, the priest spoke these words of blessing, "God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Ghost, bless, preserve, and keep you; the Lord mercifully with his favour look upon you; and so fill you with all spiritual benediction and grace, that ye may so live together in this life, that in the world to come ye may have life everlasting. Amen _."_

Their witness drew the couple's attention with "Señor y Señora FitzSimmons? Una fotografía?" and Fitz, usually reticent in these situations, with Jemma in his arms, had never posed for a photo more willingly in his life.

After signing the register and ensuring he got copies of the photos on his own phone, Fitz reached out and warmly shook hands with each of the priests. Jemma kissed them each on the cheek in thanks. And then, slipping her arm through his, Jemma and Fitz walked back up the aisle of the church and out into the world as husband and wife. Just after they passed through the imposing dark-wood doors Fitz stopped to smile at her and she smiled back resting her other hand on his arm and giving it an excited squeeze. He looked down, tracing the tip of his finger over the silver band he'd just placed on her hand.

"With this ring I thee wed…" Jemma whispered.

"With my body I thee worship," Fitz echoed. And then, despite the somewhat blasphemous undertone in the shadow of such a hallowed institution, he grinned and added, "The whole damn time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some serious kudos to the 1662 Book of Common Prayer for the gravitas and the transcendence which is probably a little out of place in a FitzSimmons fanfic!


	39. Chapter 39

Coulson was still recovering from the surprise when May dropped by.

"Who was that in your office just now?" she asked. "I could see them from the hangar but from that distance I couldn't pick the walk."

"The walk?" Coulson repeated.

"Otherwise, I would have sworn it was Fitz," May continued.

"What was it about the walk that convinced you it couldn't be Fitz?" Coulson asked, intrigued.

"Fitz bumbles," May shrugged. "He walks more like a four-year-old boy than a man. Haven't you noticed?"

I guess," Coulson nodded. "And what was this mystery guy's walk like?"

"I don't know. It seemed like more of a…" May looked thoughtful. "More of a strut."

Coulson cocked his head to one side. "Interesting. 'Cause your first instinct was on the money."

"That  _was_  Fitz?" May queried.

"Yup. They're back," Coulson nodded. "And there's more."

"Mm?" May prompted.

"They're not Fitz and Simmons anymore."

"Oh yeah?" May asked. "Who are they now? The first female Doctor Who and her sidekick?"

"Look at you!" Coulson glanced up at her in surprise. "You think you know someone. And then they turn out to be this doyenne of popular culture."

May scoffed. "I can't escape it around here!"

"May," Coulson fixed her with a slightly amused gaze. "Don't lie to me. Do you or do you not religiously watch The Doctor?"

May held up her hands. "Ok, Phil. You got me."

Coulson shook his head, smiling. "I think you're getting soft, May. How long has this been going on for?"

"I watched it when I was a kid, alright?" May retorted defensively. "And then Simmons lent me the 9th Doctor last year and I was hooked."

"So, essentially you're telling me that you're somehow this diehard  _Doctor Who_  freak who hasn't missed an episode."

May shrugged, a slight smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Want me to introduce you? I have all the new seasons in my bunk."

Coulson contemplated her a moment. "Doesn't sound too bad." His eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me they got you reading  _Harry Potter_  too."

"Look," said May, raising her palms defensively. "What little down time I get, I like to use for escapism. FitzSimmons have been like my dealers. Anyway, you never finished that sentence before. What are they now?"

Coulson grinned. "Ever been on a team with a married couple before?"

May's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline.

"You haven't heard Skye going on about them all this time?"

May rolled her eyes. "Phil, you know I love Skye. But I try not to listen to her unless it's absolutely necessary."

"Well, she was right on this one," Coulson went on. "Fitz was just in here, telling me – telling, mind, not asking – that he and Jemma are husband and wife and will be moving in together and, unless I have a better suggestion, it'll be into her room."

May shrugged. "You're not exactly going to tell them they can't, are you?"

"Of course not," Coulson replied. "You might be surprised to hear this, but I love that they got married. I've rarely been happier to be told anything, especially after all they've been through." He paused for a moment, thoughtful. "He was a different guy, May – a  _man_. It was like having Fitz Plus in here."

"And where was Jemma while he was in here being Fitz Plus?"

Coulson grinned. "Apparently she was holed up in her room while Skye interrogated her for details."

May nodded, unsurprised. "So where are you going to put them?"

"There's an apartment above the hangar – it's soundproof 'cause of the jet engines and there's a bit of distance between it and the rest of us. What do you think?"

"Makes sense," May replied. "Is it ready to go?"

Coulson shook his head. "It's full of crap from our old facilities that S.H.I.E.L.D. teams keep finding and sending over. It'll take a bit of work."

May's eyes took on a distinct twinkle.

"What are you thinking, May?" Coulson asked.

She was already half way out the door. "Put them up in a hotel for a couple of nights."

Coulson was left alone un-enlightened.

Then suddenly she popped her head back into his office. "And clear your schedule for Saturday." May beamed at him in a highly uncharacteristic fashion. "We're going to throw them a wedding reception and a house warming in one!"

ooo

Skye's jaw stayed dropped well into a fourth minute. She simply refused to believe what she was hearing. Sure, she'd been onto them, she'd seen this coming, but she hadn't quite seen  _this_  coming.

Jemma sat next to her on the bed, the very picture of satisfaction and delight, casually observing her friend's breathing and heart rate while she twirled the simple silver band on the fourth finger of her left hand that had triggered the shock in the first place. At least Skye was blinking occasionally now. That was more encouraging than the first two minutes.

"Maybe I can pull some Skye-style oversharing and jolt you out of that trance, eh?" Jemma suggested, her eyes twinkling. "After all, you did put Fitz and I through an excruciatingly detailed account of your fantasy activities with Ward."

Skye shook her head, seeming to come back to reality. "Sorry about that," she said quietly. "But I never would have thought that the two of  _you_  would end up seeing more action in the last six weeks than I've seen since I left my van!"

"Phew!" Jemma breathed. "So glad you've snapped out of it. You were never going to get so much as a hint of those details out of me. I would have had to start making things up!

"What?" Skye cried. "But don't you see? I need to live vicariously through you!"

"Sorry, not going to happen," Jemma shook her head, grinning. "Though I suppose you could always try your luck with Fitz?"

The pair of them dissolved into uproarious laughter at the very idea of Skye quizzing Fitz on the intimate details of his relationship with Jemma.

"Well, at least I know where to go if I want to watch someone go inhumanly red and gape like a fish at me," Skye sighed. "Come on, Jemma. Tell me one tiny little thing."

Jemma contemplated her thoughtfully. "Ok," she nodded. "One thing."

Skye leaned forward on the bed, hungry for information.

"I can't even begin to calculate the cumulative hours we've spent kissing," she whispered, smiling so hard she could feel tears in the corners of her eyes. "But Leo's kisses  _still_  make me weak at the knees."

Skye's ears pricked up. "Oh, so he's  _Leo_  now, is he?" she asked.

In the quiet of her own mind, Jemma returned to the first moment she'd used his given name. Her eyes closed involuntarily as she relived that glorious sensation of fulfilment and satisfaction.

"Hello? Earth to Simmons!" Skye called, and Jemma opened her eyes to find her friend waving her hands before her face. "I lost you there for a minute."

Jemma shrugged, smiling. "Get used to it, Skye. I'm a newly wed. I have a lot of exquisite memories that I keep flashing back to."

Skye shook her head. "And it's  _Fitz_  of all people that you're daydreaming about!" she exclaimed.

Jemma pretended to be mortally wounded. "What are you implying?"

Skye pointedly raised her eyebrows. "Let's just say he's not my type."

The new Dr FitzSimmons laughed. "I know, Skye. That doesn't come as any surprise to me!"

Skye looked momentarily serious. "I gotta get myself a new type…"

"If it helps," Jemma offered, "I've been best friends with my soul-mate forever. It took me more than a decade to realise I had my type all wrong."

Skye nodded. "Good to know. Maybe it's not too late for me after all."

"Of course, it's not."

"But I'm, like, a super hero now," Skye boasted. "So that should bring the boys running, right?"

Jemma and Skye exploded into laughter.

"You're right," Skye giggled. "I'm doomed. It's Steve Rogers or bust!"

"I may have found my soul-mate," Jemma sighed, "But I'd hardly be equating Steve Rogers with doom."

"Sadly, in that particular case, I don't think I'll turn out to be  _his_  type, do you?" Skye asked.

Jemma shrugged. "You never know. Let's see if Coulson will give you his number."

And the two of them once more dissolved into incredulous giggles.

ooo

Fitz knocked cautiously on Jemma's door to find it ripped open by a hyperactive Skye. She grabbed him into an embrace that almost squeezed the life out of him.

"Fitz, you sly dog," she cried, faux-punching him in the arm. "You went and eloped without me!"

Fitz nodded, rolling his eyes. "I think you'll find that's consistent with the definition of elopement, Skye."

Jemma looked up at him from where she sat on her bed. "How'd it go with Coulson?" she asked apprehensively.

"It went fine," Fitz replied, grinning. "He's very happy for us."

"And we can stay?" Jemma enquired.

Fitz shrugged. "I didn't ask."

Skye looked him up and down. "Well, look at you!" she cooed. "All manly and aggressive!"

Fitz gave her a withering look.

A second later there was another knock on the door. May's head appeared.

"Coulson asked me to tell you that we're going to put you two up at a hotel until the weekend while we sort out better accommodation for you," she said. "Car's waiting."

Fitz and Simmons looked at one another, surprised.

"Ok," laughed Fitz, picking up the bag he'd only just dropped on Jemma's bedroom floor. "Well, I guess we'll be seeing you on the weekend."

"He says you should be right to get back around six on Saturday," May added, shortly. "Oh, and congratulations."

"Thank you, May," Jemma gushed, getting to her feet as if to embrace her. But May was already gone.

"Wow," Skye jibed. "I wouldn't want to swear an oath on it or anything, but think I maybe just caught a glimpse of her excited face!"

ooo

May was a hard task-master. Her trade-mark black speckled with antique white paint, she demanded full effort from the entire team. Even Coulson fetched and carried and cleaned and painted like the rest of them. Mack ripped out the old kitchen and bathroom and oversaw the installation of new facilities. Bobbi and Lance cleaned and argued and painted and argued some more. Skye was sent out to choose new furniture. May took it upon herself to stock the empty kitchen cupboards.

And once that was done, she turned the team's attention to catering for a party. Skye was sent back to the shops for food. Lance and Bobbi were sent out for drinks under strict instructions that arguments and/or making up could delay them for no more than a cumulative half-hour. Mack and Coulson were assigned to decorations and May got to work in the kitchen.

By the time the Drs FitzSimmons arrived back at base, the apartment had been transformed, the intimate party was ready to go and it had been irrevocably revealed that underneath the pile of  _Doctor Who_  DVDs and  _Harry Potter_  books, May hid an ever-growing stash of lifestyle magazines. She'd been found out by virtue of the on-trend fluoro-and-white table setting, the chia-based appetisers, the kale salad, the twine-wrapped glass bottles and the so-vintage-it's-hip jug of Pimms. Skye was aghast and not showing signs of shutting up about it until May ended up threatening her with the sharp end of a hipster cocktail umbrella to the jugular.

It was at about that point in the evening that the newly-weds cautiously made their entrance.

"Umm," Simmons ventured. "Are we in the right place?"

May lowered the weapon and Skye rallied quickly. "Surprise!" they cried, heartily joined by their crowd of bystanders.

Fitz looked staggered. Simmons held both hands to her sternum and gave a heartfelt "Awwwwww."

Coulson stepped forward. "Welcome home!" he announced, gesturing vaguely at the apartment beyond. "We got a little place fixed up for you."

"For us?" Fitz repeated, dumbfounded.

Simmons' eyes welled up as she gazed around. "Didn't this used to be storage?" she asked incredulously. "How did it get to be so… lovely?"

Five voices simultaneously replied, "May."

Jemma turned to find the compact agent surreptitiously trying to hide behind Mack.

"May?" she asked. "You did this?"

May shrugged. "I've never liked married people. But I like you two."

Jemma wasn't going to let her get away. "Hold her still, Mack," she ordered, and she and Fitz went and trapped May into an enormous hug which she didn't  _entirely_ resist.

ooo

After speeches were made, food was eaten, presents were opened, drinks were drunk and dances were danced, Fitz and Simmons embraced each of their guests, thanking them profusely for the surprise celebration and the even more surprising new home. After Skye's enthusiastic hugs threatened to suffocate them, the last to leave was May who promised to return the next day and help them clean up.

"You know what, May?" Jemma said as the agent went to leave. "You pretend to be tough but you're an absolute teddy bear."

May rolled her eyes.

"We already knew that, Jem," Fitz laughed. "Remember when we found her weeping over  _The Half-Blood Prince_?"

"No, Leo," Jemma shook her head. "That was when we found out she was  _human_."

"Ahh, that's right," Fitz nodded. "And now…"

"I know, I know," May shrugged, turning her back to leave. "I'm a teddy bear…"

Simmons called a final goodnight to May and closed the door behind her, leaning back against it. "So, Dr Fitz…"

"Yes, Dr Simmons?"

"It appears that we're alone once more."

Fitz pantomimed checking around the room. "Do you know, it appears you're right."

She approached him slowly. "And according to FitzSimmons Domestic Rules and Regulations Article Thirty-Three Point Seven…"

Fitz cocked an eyebrow. "I'm not sure that I'm familiar with that particular piece of legislation…"

"Sloppy work, Dr Fitz. Sloppy work…" Jemma shook her head, pushing herself off the door and walking slowly towards him. "Article Thirty-Three Point Seven…" she reached up and started undoing the buttons of his charcoal grey shirt, "…Makes it very plain that when the inhabitants of this residence find themselves all alone…"

"Mmm?" Fitz responded, smiling as she slid his shirt over his bare shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

"Any shirt on you is one shirt too many," she grinned.

"Ahh, yes," he replied, pulling her close and reaching around for her zipper. "And I think you'll find that there was an additional amendment to that rule."

"Oh, yes?" she asked, as Fitz ever-so-slowly undid her dress.

"Mmm," he nodded. "Article Thirty-Three Point Eight states that, additionally, any dress on  _you_  is one dress too many." And he let go of the zipper, watching as the frock cascaded into a pool of lilac fabric at their feet.

"Now," Jemma asked thoughtfully, stepping out of her dress and leading him towards the bedroom in her underwear and heels. "Do you recall what the legislation had to say about the wearing of pants?"

"Hmm," he replied, happily following after her. "I believe it was similar to the ruling about underwear."

"Not advisable?" she ventured, collapsing onto the bed and pulling him down next to her.

Fitz gathered Jemma into his arms, shaking his head and almost entirely failing to achieve the stern expression he was going for.

"Not  _allowed_."

 


	40. Chapter 40

**Epilogue**

_Some Time Later_

Fitz answered the door of the beautiful London home resplendent in one of his now somewhat shabby tartan-trimmed Highland-themed aprons. He grabbed Skye into an odd embrace that required him to keep his blue-tinted hands from making contact with any part of her.

"Eddie and Marie have been learning about nucleation and saturated solutions," he explained apologetically as she laughed at him. "The three of us, and the kitchen, are covered in sugar."

Skye heaved her enormous suitcase over the threshold and followed Fitz into the lab-like stainless steel kitchen to find the adorable FitzSimmons offspring perched atop the bench, sucking on brightly coloured crystallised sugar. Eddie, short for Edison, now three, and Marie (named for the first female recipient of the Nobel Prize for Physics), four-and-a-half, were clad in miniature lab coats that were now stained all over with bright food colouring.

"Look at you two!" Skye cried. "You're a mess!"

"Skye!" cried Eddie, reaching out his sticky arms to the long-anticipated arrival.

Marie grinned proudly down at her lab coat. "Mummy says a scientist's lab coat should show the evidence of discovery."

"Of course she does," Skye laughed, trying to greet them both without getting too sticky. "Speaking of Mommy, where is she? I need to give her a hug too!"

"Mummy's working," lisped little Eddie, thrusting his whole fist into a jar of vibrantly purple sugar solution and causing it to overflow onto the bench.

"Look at that, my little Archimedes!" crowed Fitz, reaching out to high-five his junior genius before he thought to reach for a dishtowel. "That's precociously early hydrostatic experimentation if ever I saw it!"

"Umm, Fitz?" Skye pointed to the purple liquid spilling over the edge of the bench and pooling on the floor.

Fitz just leant against the bench and laughed. "Remember the cleaner that used to come every week?"

"You mean your friends who run that biohazard company?"

Fitz nodded. "Now they just send someone by every evening. They say it makes the weekly clean less frightening for their staff." He shrugged. "Those are the lab conditions we've always been used to anyway. And outsourcing the cleaning means that whenever we're not working we're home to make even more of a mess with these two monkeys." As he spoke he gathered the two of them into his arms and carried them out onto the covered deck.

"So where in the world has Dr J. Fitz-Simmons been consulting today?" Skye enquired.

Fitz plopped the kids onto a brightly coloured outdoor couch where they returned their full focus to their crystallised sweets. "Thankfully she didn't even have to leave our little part of the Commonwealth today. The jet should have brought her back from Cambridge almost an hour ago so I'm expecting her to walk through the door at any moment."

"And she's bringing us back a stick of rock!" Marie chirped, her face shining with a sticky pink glaze.

"I think we might have to ask Skye to save the rock for tomorrow, My Marie," Fitz warned gently. "The two of you have practically consumed your body weight in seeded sugar crystals already today."

Marie pouted in a manner that almost exactly evoked the expression Jemma wore when deep in concentration. The little girl had her mother's dark tresses paired with Fitz's cornflower blue eyes. Next to her on the couch, her sandy blonde brother gazed meditatively up at the grownups through wide hazel eyes. Eddie's face was so sticky that bits of orange fluff had started to adhere to it from the hand-knitted cardigan poking out the sleeve of his lab coat.

Skye followed Fitz back into the kitchen. "Is it really ten years since we abandoned you two in Chile?" she asked incredulously.

"I know," Fitz shook his head, setting the kettle to boil and reaching for his trusty teapot while they waited for Jemma to arrive. "My theory is that some kind of as-yet-undiscovered relativity must kick in once you hit thirty. I'm running my life as one long experiment but I have no useful findings to report as yet."

"So where are you taking Simmons?" Skye asked. "Have you booked some fancy hotel in London?"

Fitz looked sheepish. "I don't know if I can tell you," he shrugged. "You'll just laugh at me."

"Come on, Fitz," she urged. "I'm always laughing at you. Besides, I'm dying of suspense! I spent the whole flight over here trying to guess. Is there some physics resort in Germany or something?"

Fitz contemplated her a moment, as if trying to work out whether it would be worth the pain of telling her.

"Does she know?" she asked. "Or is it a surprise?"

"Jem knows," Fitz nodded. "We've been planning this holiday together for even longer than the ten years we've been married."

"Seriously?" Skye asked. "You already knew where you'd be spending your ten year anniversary before you'd even celebrated one?"

Fitz winked. "Since before you even knew we were together!"

Skye gave him a flat look. "You like to  _think_  there was a time I didn't know you were together, but you were mistaken. I always knew. We  _all_ did."

Fitz shook his head. "I'm not buying that for a second. We were extremely stealthy."

Skye scoffed.

The sound of a key turning in the front door reverberated through the polished wood hallway.

"Did you convince Coulson to let us get our old D.W.A.R.F.s out of the archive, Leo?" Jemma's familiar voice called from the hall.

"They're waiting for us at Desierto de Atacama Airport, Jem," he called back.

"Then quick!" cried her disembodied voice excitedly. "Let's say goodbye to the kids and go get on that flight!"

Skye noticed a bunch of keys resting on their pile of passports on the bench top. The key ring was marked  _Haggis_. Her eyebrows skyrocketed. "You're taking  _The Flying Haggis_  back to the desert, aren't you?"

But Fitz had disappeared into the hallway before she'd even finished her sentence.

Skye peered around the doorjamb to find her two friends locked in a passionate embrace – Fitz's hand splayed across the small of Jemma's back, her fingers wound into the curls at the nape of his neck.

"Sheesh, I hope I find someone who'll still kiss me like that after ten years of marriage," Skye exclaimed.

Without the slightest pausing of their ardent activity, Jemma briefly raised one arm in greeting and then wound it once more around her adoring husband's neck.

"Fine," Skye called back laughing. "If you need me I'll be outside with my babysitting charges." She paused half-way through the kitchen. "You're not planning on making another one while you're out there in the desert, are you?"

She heard a husky chuckle from Fitz.

"I get it," Skye sighed. "You totally are. Well, my rates go up with each additional child. Keep that in mind when you're budgeting for your fifteenth anniversary. It's not every family that can afford an Avenger as a babysitter!"

Out in the hallway, Jemma scattered a succession of feathery kisses across her beloved's throat, standing on tiptoe to reach her lips all the way up to his ear. "Wild nights, Leo," she whispered, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

"Mmmm," Fitz moaned. " _Luxury_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END!
> 
> Thanks, all you lovely people for following my FitzSimmons adventures all this way! And if you've enjoyed even a little bit of it, I will regard it as the equivalent of you sending me an awesome present if you'd leave a little review and tell me so!


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